


Lady Sansa's Hounds

by Rayne11



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Humor, I'm not sure if this warrants a tag but there's an attempted assault, Pets, Some fluff therapy since I have to go write sad stuff later, Soulmate AU, sansan, with puppies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24214948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rayne11/pseuds/Rayne11
Summary: "Get her a dog. She'll be happier for it."Stranded in Castle Darry on the way to King's Landing, Sansa and her family struggle to fulfil their new roles. Sansa misses Lady, Arya misses Nymeria and their father misses home.Things brighten up when Sansa finds three orphaned puppies.With the Hound included, she's got four new dogs in her life - could there be more to them than meets the eye?
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Jeyne Poole
Comments: 237
Kudos: 219





	1. Chapter 1

Resting her head on her elbow, she marvelled at the drops falling on her palms. 

The rain came down in rounds. It would slow to a drizzle for a few moments and turn into a torrent in the blink of an eye. Watching rain fall was relatively new to Sansa. It almost never rained in Winterfell, only snowed. She'd have gone to watch the rains from the solar balcony instead of her dingy window if her heart didn't feel so heavy. 

The chamber she had to share with Arya in Castle Darry was almost half the size of her own back home. Thankfully, her sister wasn't anywhere to be seen. She had most likely gone to sleep in their father's chamber - which was fine by Sansa considering she didn't want to see her brat of a sister right now anyway. Come to think of it, she didn't want to see either of them. 

She missed Lady sorely. She'd spent the past two weeks weeping in her rooms, mourning her direwolf. 

Sansa had been rude to her father and downright nasty to Arya but she couldn't feel guilty for it for more than a few minutes. All guilt would be washed over in rage. 

They were meant to be in King's Landing by now. Her father had spoken to her, trying to console her, that once they reached the capital, she would feel better. But the flood cancelled their plans. The kingsroad was a mess of puddles and landslides and so the party had been stranded at Castle Darry. Joffrey stayed away from her, as did his mother. Sansa was inclined to forgive Joffrey, he was only a boy… but he hadn't spoken up for her. After she took his side, and got him help after Nymeria… She convinced herself there was nothing he could've done but the longer she stayed by herself in this chamber, the less she believed that. She hated the queen, and she was so, so mad at her sister. The thunder outside echoed her anger. At the world, at the songs, at the injustice of it all. 

A knock on the door startled her. "Sansa, come for dinner." It was only Arya. 

"Go away!" Sansa shrieked. 

"Father wants you to come!" 

Biting back snarky comments, Sansa made her way to the solar cum dining hall in the makeshift Tower of the Hand. 

"Where's Jeyne?" She asked Septa Mordane, once she was seated at the table and greeted - almost - everyone. 

"She's been taken to the Maester."

"What? Why? I must go see her," Sansa got up in a flurry of skirts and auburn waves. 

"No cause to worry, child," her father said, placing a gentle hand on hers. "The Maester has given her dreamwine. You can see your friend when she's awake."

She acquiesced, shakily returning to her spot. "What happened? A fever? She did want to go out in the rain yesterday afternoon."

"Did she?" Septa Mordane tapped her chin. "She was acting quite unlike herself. I haven't known her to try and get wet in the rain if she can help it."

"It was strange," Jory chimed in. "I found her playing in the lily pond in the gardens."

"Jeyne? Truly?" Sansa couldn't keep the surprise from her voice. It was as unthinkable of Jeyne frolicking in the mud as it was Arya behaving like a true lady. 

"I'm afraid so, Lady Sansa. She had her hands in the water, just swirling it around. Dam-" - cough -"Darn near thought I was dreaming. Girl would chew her own picnic basket, before she got her dress all dirty." 

"I think something inside it bit her. By the Seven, I'm not surprised. That pond has a wild look about it."

Now that she thought about it, it was true. While the rest of Lady Lya's garden, which was adjoined by the Godswood, was trimmed and proper, the pond and everything around it had a wild look to it. Completely undisturbed. White and yellow water lilies with pads larger than dinner plates, the grass growing at the edge, thick and dense, big boulders on which tortoises basked, unafraid of people.It wasn't so much a pond as a very small lake. Arya had said it was the most beautiful part of Castle Darry. 

"Ugh." Sansa tossed and turned in her bed, flipping the pillow over and over to get to the colder side. 

The quilts were scratchy and the fire and rain made her feel like she was sleeping in a bowl of soup. She itched the back of her hand and forearm as she get off the bed and put on her easiest dress. Something tugged inside her, like another itch but she was unsure where it was. Uncomfortable and really quite annoyed, she put her hair in a simple braid, slipped on her shoes and tiptoed across the lobby. 

The guards were dozing at the gate, their snores masking any sound she made. Stifling a giggle, she gently unbarred the door and closed it behind her. The rain had progressed to a thunderstorm. Lightning was the only thing illuminating her path for the wind blew out all the torches. She hadn't a clue what she'd meant to do outside but her feet seemed to know before she did. 

Quick footed, she found herself walking towards the pond. A strange excitement bubbled up inside her. Sansa felt positively giddy, as if everything was going exactly as planned.The small iron gate to the gardens was just in sight when she veered left directly into the tool and weapon shed. Nose wrinkling at the sudden affront, she hastened to shut the door behind her. It smelt of wood varnish, rust and vaguely like mud and horses. _Aha,_ she thought, spying the saddles. _That's the horse smell accounted for._ She walked around aimlessly for a bit, examining the various swords and hammers mounted on the walls. 

_So dark… and dirty. Now what did I need?_ "Eep!" Sansa squealed as something touched her hand and hastily wiped her hand with her kerchief. Her general annoyance was back as her gaze darted around trying to - trying to what? 

She was meant to find something here, she was sure of that. _But what?_

There was the sound of a heavy cloth falling. "Who's there?" She called out, suddenly alert. But there was no response. Nothing. Her usually timid nature seemed unnaturally far away as she shuffled towards the source of the sound. Sansa didn't know where this sudden daring was coming from but decided not to question it. 

A window was open on the other side letting in moonlight. The shed was even dirtier than she thought. There were more shuffling noises coming from one of the corners of the room. 

"Uh… is… is anyone there? Excuse me," she said. With halting steps, she moved closer and closer to source. Another flash of lightning revealed the odd shape before her as a yellow shield. _The Hound's._

The hair on the nape of her neck stood up with yet another jolt of glee that things were going exactly as they should. The wind flapped the windows open and shut making the moonlight play tricks on her eyes. Another squeak! "Don't worry, I won't hurt you," she used her softest voice. "Come out."

She knelt before the shield, palm forward, uncharacteristically unafraid. Something soft and wet touched her nose. 

"That tickles," she giggled. "Come out now. Come - oh! Oh my! Aren't you cute? Wow are you alon - oh! By the Seven!" One by one, three little black puppies rushed out to greet her, tails wagging. They sniffed and jumped and tugged at her, falling over each other. She felt a warmth wash over her chest, nevermind the dripping dress robes. 

"Where's your mother?" She asked. 

One of the puppies yelped sadly, as if it understood. 

"Oh, don't cry, puppy. I'll be your mommy now." She stroked his head softly, cooing. 

"We'd best get back now, before father finds me missing and wakes the castle!"

*

"LADY SANSA!" 

Sansa winced at the sudden noise, rudely woken from her peaceful slumber. _It was such a happy dream too..._

"My lady -" 

"I'm awake, Tabitha," she yawned, eyes refusing to open, and reached out to grab her robes.She felt about for the familiar soft fabric but upon not finding it, she groaned. "Hand me my robe, please," she called her handmaiden. 

"My lady, uh…" 

"What's wrong?" She opened her eyes, the hesitation in Tabby's voice rubbing her the wrong way.

The girl had a palm pressed against her mouth and the other pointing to Sansa. She lowered her gaze to find herself wearing the robe in question and what was worse? It was covered in mud! As were her quilts and bedsheets. And the carpets and rugs! Sansa gasped and fell out of bed, utterly graceless. Her cheeks burned with shame.

"H… how?" 

"I don't know, my lady… but…"

"But what?"

Tabby pointed by the window. 

Fearing what was coming, Sansa turned to find the black puppies curled up in a basket lined with her yellow summer silk dresses.

Somewhere from the tiny yard of Castle Darry, the Hound's rasping voice carried up. "Which of you buggering idiots fucked with my shield?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Ser, please-" 

"I'm no _ser,_ " the Hound positively hissed. 

Sansa stumbled over to the window to see what the ruckus was about, while her handmaiden made quick work of disposing the dirty sheets and rugs. 

The robe would have to wait till Sansa's bath water was brought up. 

"Look! Can't you tell what's wrong with this?"

"No one has been in the shed since I locked it yesterday morn, m'lord. All was as your squire left it."

The Hound lifted his giant shield one handed and thrust it towards the shaking man crouching away from him.

"My sigil is gone. Gone! It's painted over completely. And what a shit job at that?! All the scratches are still there!"

Something about that didn't sit right with Sansa. A sudden feeling of uneasiness washed over her. 

Should she confess to the Hound that she had been to the shed at night and nothing was wrong with his shield? 

_It looked fine to me. It was even sheltering those puppies. Maybe they chewed it a bit. What an awful man!_ She thought. _Getting angry at puppies. What real damage could they have done? They barely have teeth!_

One of the puppies was rousing now. Blinking slowly, tail wagging before it could even fully take in his new surroundings. 

Sansa wasn't sure how her father would feel about her leaving her chambers unguarded in the middle of the night, and go to a weapon shed, no less… Oh, he wouldn't take that well at all. Besides, such behaviour wasn't expected of a lady like Sansa. 

Before she could come up with a plausible explanation for her new roommates, the maids came in with the hot water. 

"My lord Hand would like to see you before breakfast, my lady," Tabitha said, keeping her voice nonchalant. Like she didn't just rat out Sansa. 

Silently, fuming, she stewed in the bath, thinking up half-way believable excuses of how the pups ended up in her room. 

She kept coming up empty. _At least the Hound has quieted down._

Dressing took much longer than usual since the pups had woken by then. 

They yiped and barked, running around the place, sniffing and chewing everything they could get their snouts on. 

_Oh, I must name them!_ Naming Lady had been easy. She was a pretty, little wolf, ever obedient and gentle. _A true lady._

Thoughts of her direwolf always brought tears to her eyes. 

Luckily, this time distractions were close by. 

A puppy had snatched the bottom end of the sash Tabby held and was galloping full speed around the chamber. 

"Ooooo, give it back! Git here!" Tabby shrieked as she ran behind it. "Git!" 

Despite her sour state of mind, Sansa burst out in laughter. 

Another pup ran across, nearly tripping the maid who tried to help the poor handmaiden. The girl tumbled forward and faceplanted into a mountain of decorative pillows. 

The unfortunate few that toppled over were immediately under vicious attack. 

One pup dragged a pillow, bigger than itself, further away. Another could evidently see the merit in the idea as he pounced on it too. 

Seeing her helpers incapacitated, Sansa intervened. She grabbed the middle of the pillow, trying to wrench it from their grasp. 

"No! Stop it! Give it here!" 

They tugged the pillow till it exploded in an avalanche of goosefeathers. Sansa fell over backwards on her butt. 

The loud rip halted their crimes momentarily. One puppy efficiently dove in the biggest pile of feathers, sputtering out the rogue feathers that got in his mouth. 

The other had the grace to make a soft yip, before deciding apologizing was too much work. 

It went to join his other brother in his noble quest to sniff out all of Sansa's pretty shoes and ensure they didn't endanger anyone by chewing them up. 

Tabitha lent a hand to lift Sansa up, mirth dancing in her eyes, even though her words were courteous enough. 

After quick orders to Tabby to send for milk for the pups, she left her chambers to face her sire. 

  
  
  


"Good morning father," Sansa said, as she entered the solar. The food was laid out and she was the first to arrive. 

Nerves and butterflies filled her otherwise empty stomach and she found herself completely devoid of hunger. 

Not even the smell of lemon cakes could distract her. 

"Good morning, dear," her father said, motioning her to take a seat. He studied her for a moment while she picked at the table cloth. 

Sansa glanced up at him, and quickly lowered her lashes. Things had been strained within her family for weeks now. 

Ned Stark heaved a sigh. 

Sansa prepared herself for a scolding and an inquiry by squaring her shoulders and lifting her gaze. 

"I'm happy to see you in better spirits than you've been of late, child," father smiled. 

"I heard you laughing," he said, by way of explanation at her gobsmacked face. 

The corners of her lips curled up, despite her wanting to look sad. 

Soon, she found herself beaming at the table. 

"So… can I keep them, father?" 

A small crease appeared between his brows. 

"Please? I can take care of them! I can train them like I train-" a sudden lump in her throat stopped her from continuing. She blinked away tears threatening to form. 

All questions her father must've had were held in for the time. He ran a hand across his face. 

"Three dogs are a lot of work, Sansa. And we are guests here. We mustn't bother the Darrys anymore than we must. 

They've already spared us many servants and rooms. We can't expect them to give up their dogs too. Their kennels are mostly empty as is."

"But they didn't have a mother! She wasn't anywhere around them. And they aren't from Darry kennels. Even if they were, they should have been better taken care of! A weapon shed is no place for…"

She trailed off. Ned's eyebrows had begun their northward journey since she began her rant but at the mention of the shed, they dropped and knitted instantly. 

"Father… there was the storm and... and they were scared. And alone."

"So you went into the shed _by yourself_ to get them?"

"Uh… yes?"

He took in a sharp breath. "What were you doing by the shed anyway? That's no place for a lady to be! And where was Septa Mordane? Must I have a word with her?"

"No! I... was… by the shed _because_ …"

"Mhmm."

"I heard them! Yes. While I was strolling... by the gardens after dinner, I heard some squealing coming from the shed but I paid no mind to it. 

After the storm started I got worried and went to check on them." She finished strong with a, "it was the only honorable thing to do. I couldn't leave them there."

That did the trick. Ned Stark smiled a small smile of his own. 

"We will see what to do about them after we break our fast."

Once everyone was seated, Sansa piled lemon cake on her plate, relieved to have successfully jumped over the first hurdle. 

She didn't like lying to her father but the truth was quite inexplicable. It was almost as if she wasn't in her senses when she had brought the puppies back. She barely remembered bringing them back or falling asleep. 

"How is Jeyne, Septa Mordane?" Sansa asked. 

"She's doing well, dear. You may go see in the afternoon or evening. The Maester has advised her to rest for a few more days at least."

Nodding, she returned to her meal. Arya still picked at her food. 

She had been quite out of sorts since her friend had gone missing. 

The Hound had spent a day searching for Arya, Mycah and Nymeria, but Arya had returned with Jory and the rest were gone.

He'd been grumbling about the day going to waste loud enough for half the castle to hear. 

The sounds of cutlery inside the solar, yelping from the Sansa's chamber's above, and drizzling outside were the only ones to be heard. 

"Sansa," father said, suddenly, his voice energetic. "Why don't you give one of the pups to your sister? And one to Jeyne. Three dogs are no easy task to handle."

His point was emphasised by a series of loud yips and barks streaming down from the chambers above, punctuated by the grunting of whichever poor servant was the pups' victim at the time. 

The thought of giving away one of the pups made a jolt of anxiety pass through her. 

"But they're mine," she started, voice raised but eventually lowering. "They are a family, we can't split them up."

Father's expression turned stern. He looked like he wanted to let his temper loose but didn't. "They won't be split up. You live with Arya and Jeyne, don't you? It'll do your sister some good too," he motioned with his chin towards the lowered head of her little sister. 

Her throat became tight with emotion. Arya had lost Nymeria too... _But at least she's alive! Besides none of this would've happened if she had just been a proper lady,_ another more dominant part of her screamed. 

But she couldn't very well refuse her father. It was very unbecoming of a young lady like Sansa.

Swallowing her hurt and blinking away tears, she opened her mouth to speak the required words but was cut short by her father. 

"It's fine," he said, raising a palm, eyes hard. "I'll get another puppy for Arya. You saved these, you should keep them."

A mixture of guilt and relief swirled inside her. She wanted to _want to insist_ that it was fine and her sister could have a pup, but she felt such a crushing sense of possessiveness that she couldn't muster up even the words. 

They resumed eating with exceptional quiet where Jory, Arya and the other Northmen were concerned. 

The lemon cakes lost much of their flavour but it was the untouched food on her sister's plate that did it. 

"You can-" - _no, that's not right - "_ would you like to help me take care of them, Arya?"

Arya's eyes shot up at the mention of her name, as if she'd been lost in her own world. 

"The puppies are quite a handful. They chewed the curtains, destroyed a pillow and tripped my handmaidens all in the time it took to fetch them milk from the kitchens."

Her incredulous expression gave way to a small smile. "You won't be able to handle them alone. I suppose I could help," she said in an even tone, but the lightness in her voice gave her away. 

"Father… may I be excused from my sewing lessons today? I would like to help Sansa with the pups."

Ned Stark looked like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders and the sun was fianlly shining down on him. His eyes softened. "Of course, my dear." 

  
  
  


"What will you name them?" Arya asked, tugging the floral patterned hairbrush out of one of the pup's mouth. 

He growled low in his throat and wiggled his butt, adamant about hanging on to it. 

"Stubborn, aren't you? Give it back! You can't eat that!"

"Ooooo, not that one! No, that one is my favourite!" Sansa hurried over to help her sister. She knelt and both the girls manage to wrangle it away from the pup without hurting him. 

Miffed, he darted towards Sansa and pulled at her skirts. The deep blue fabric was much too strong for his tiny teeth. 

"Oh! No, no… Nononono," Sansa squealed as she rotated, stepping this way and that way, trying to put some distance between them. 

Arya fell over laughing. She clutched her stomach. "You look like a dog trying to catch his tail," she said between wheezes. 

Sighing, Sansa grabbed the hairbrush and returned it to the pup. He grabbed it in his maw and retreated back to his basket to gnaw on it in peace, eyeing her with suspicious the whole time. 

A huff of laugh escaped Sansa. She pulled the second more docile puppy onto her lap as she sat on the floor, leaning against the sofa. 

Arya put more wood in the fireplace, and settled beside her sister, petting the pup in her lap. 

"Where's the third one?" 

"Probably huffing wood varnish," Arya replied, nodding towards the last pup scratching a wooden leg of the ancient desk by the door.

"Father will have to pay the Darrys for all this mess."

"Winterfell is going to go bankrupt at this rate." 

Arya chuckled, a strange peace washing over her features. 

_It's nice, us getting along like this. Why haven't we done this before?_

"Why'd you let him have the hairbrush? You're never getting it back, you know."

  
  


"He's got a temper, that one. You saw how growly he got," Sansa laughed. 

"Well, what are you going to name them?"

"Um… oh! I've been thinking. This one," she said, gesturing to the one in her lap, "is Florian!" 

Arya groaned, and rolled her eyes but smiled. "Why am I not surprised?" 

"It suits him well. He's gallant, and gentle and so, -"

"Foolish?" Arya teased. 

Sansa gasped, covering the pup's ears with her fingers. "On the contrary. Florian is very smart. And sweet." 

"Alright. Well, they are all boys. Are you going to name them all after knights from your songs?" Arya lifted a brow as she grinned. 

"Oh! That's a great idea-"

"No, that's not what I -"

"But Florian wasn't a knight. Hmm… who else-"

"What about Sniffer over there?" 

Arya got up to fetch the third puppy. He yelped as she lifted him up. "That's enough varnish for you. Maybe I could leave you in Prince Joffrey's room. You can chew all his expensive trunks of clothes." The puppy barked enthusiastically. "Oh! You're such a good boy! Who's gonna bite all the trunks? Who ishhh? Yesh, you ahh!" She cooed. "I'll teach you to get his shoes while I'm at it too!" she continued, touching her nose to his snout. 

Sansa couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, he knows how to chew shoes. Went through almost all of mine."

"Looks like you're smarter than I thought! Good boy," Arya said, cuddling him, close to her chest. 

She sat down with a plop. The two brothers greeted by way of sniffing butts and wresting to the ground. 

"You can name this one," Sansa offered. 

Arya beamed at her. "I'll let you know as soon as I come up with someone."

"Someone?" 

"Yes, of course. He has to have a person name too! You can't have one Florian and one Sniffer!" 

"As you say," Sansa sang. "But he must be a hero from the songs! Or like a hero from the songs!" 

The sisters watched Sniffer run to the one in the basket. 

The sudden intrusion was obviously unwanted. The pup barked and growled, hovering protectively over his newly acquired hairbrush. 

"Done. What about Growly over there? Need to find an angry man for him!" 

Said pup ran about in trying to find a place - away from one's meddling brothers - where one could gnaw a hairbrush in peace. 

He growled loudly in the back of his throat (his mouth was otherwise occupied.)

"Well, we'd best name him Sandor then," Sansa laughed. The pup growled. "Perfect." 

The girls giggled. 

"Japes aside, I'm not sure. I must need time to think of another I like as much as Florian or it wouldn't be fair to the other pups."

"I've thought of one," Arya said. 

"For Growly?"

"No, for Sniffer here," she lifted him up. "Terrance."

"Oh! I like the name. But after whom?"

"Terrance Toyne, of course."

"What?! But he's not -"

"Exactly a hero from your songs, I know. But I like him. He died for love too, just like in your songs. A tragic hero. I like him better than the Dragonknight anyway, he knew the King was evil but served him anyway."

_________

**Eddard**

Ned never thought he'd be _this_ grateful over some puppies, but he was. After two weeks of tense silence and hushed tears, the morning had gone by in laughter. 

At long last, his girls were getting along. Their giggling could be heard in his solar whenever the rain slowed down. 

Ned had already visited the Godswood, despite the rain, to thank the old gods. (And the Sept, but that was mostly because he missed his wife.)

The pond had been close to overflowing, and the turtles were nowhere to be seen. 

The magic of the old Gods seemed stronger in the Godswood of Castle Darry than anywhere else so far south in Ned's experience. 

  
  


He got to work lighting candles in his solar, even though it was only mid-afternoon. 

Dusk seemed to have arrived early in the form of giant, grey clouds. And two very unwelcome Westermen. 

Ser Jaime and Sandor Clegane waited patiently by the door while the King took his place in the large sofa before the fireplace. 

"Sure hope the rains subside soon. The King shouldn't be away from his capital for this long," he said, rubbing his hands and warming them over the fireplace. "Bugger this! I can't seem to get the chill out, Ned."

"Yes, your grace," Ned said, his good mood dissolving like morning mist.

"Ha! And I wonder why I can't get the chill out. Come on, Ned. How many times have I asked you not to call me 'your grace'?" Robert sighed. "Look, I have come here hoping to bury the hatchet. That whole bloody business… so unnecessary..."

_Easier said than done,_ Ned wanted to tell him. _Your daughter didn't weep for days on end. She didn't quit eating in mourning, till she fainted. What do you know, Robert?_

 _I shouldn't have come here,_ he thought, now more than once. _Only for you, Jon Arryn. And whatever is left of our friend..._

The thunder echoed one last time before the outside fell silent. Peering out of the window, Ned sought to buy himself some time. 

"... Oh but the Dragonknight-" Sansa was saying.

Ned turned abruptly at the sound. 

"Calm down, it's coming from upstairs," King Robert said. 

"I'll go tell the girls to quiet down, your gra- er - Robert," Ned said. 

"Nonsense, Ned. Let the girl be. The Gods know, it's been weighing on me. Her poor wolf…" the King hung his head in shame. 

A pang of pity shot through Ned. Robert's words were genuine, he could tell. 

"But nothing," Arya said. "He knew the King was bad and still served him. How is that honorable? Besides, you know how people are always saying he's King Daeron's real father."

Sansa gasped. "That's a lie. Prince Aemon was the greatest knight-" 

"Oh, psshh. He might have been but what did he get for it in the end?" 

"Girl has a point," Ser Jaime said to the Hound. Ned had almost forgotten they were there. _Almost._

"Well, so what Terrance Toyne did wasn't honorable and he got nothing for it-" Sansa said. 

"Not exactly true," the Hound said, at that, to Ser Jaime, his voice harsher than usual in hushed tones. "Got his arse handed to him."

"And Prince Aemon was honorable and he got nothing for it either. So…"

"So, nothing. At least he died for something he believed in. Not like Prince Aemon." Ned wondered when his little Arya had gotten so wise.

The whole conversation had had a background cacophony of high pitched barks and yelps. Now that the girls were quiet, and the men, it was all that rang through this end of Castle Darry. _A pleasant enough sound._ He'd take happy dogs over sad friends any day, in his current situation. 

_Thump!_

"No - Sansa, watch ou - Florian! No, bad boy! Bad boy!" Arya squealed, followed by a crash.

"Wait - where's-"

Robert turned to look at Ned, brows raised. 

"Sansa found some puppies. The girls have been playing all morning." Even as he said this, he felt himself soften. Robert smiled too, some of his unease slowly ebbing. 

"Where? Ohh- Flo-" Sansa said. The girls seemed to be running around the room. 

_Thump! Crash!_ "Ah! Florian, you little brat," Arya huffed.

"Alright! Alright, I got him!" Sansa sounded triumphant.

"Now for-" 

"Oh, no! Sandor got another hairbrush! Stop him!" Arya yelled. 

King Robert's brows shot up before his booming laugh filled up the room. Ser Jaime hooted. 

It took Ned a moment to catch up. 

He turned to see the Hound frozen in his spot, his expression unreadable. 

"His name is _not_ Sandor!" Sansa snapped, sounding a little out of breath. "It's Growly!" 

"No, it's not. Florian, Terrance, and _Growly_ ?! _"_

"It is till I come up with a permanent name." 

"You came up with Sandor!" 

"It was a joke! We can't name him Sandor. It's disrespectful!"

"Oh, please, like the Hound cares. You know his horse is named Stranger?"

"Wha- how do you know th-" _Crash!_ "Wait. I'll go around the chair, and you wait on the other end. Terry…" Sansa called, soothingly. As if to lure the pup out. 

There was a purposeful silence followed by a series of yelps. 

"Aha! Got you," Arya rejoiced. 

"That's two down!" Sansa said. 

"By the Seven, Lord Stark, how many dogs -" Ser Jaime started. 

"One to go!" Arya answered for Ned. "I'll catch him." 

"Wait, no. Don't bother him. Ignore him and he'll come here," Sansa said. 

"Mhmm."

As the silence stretched on, Ned's discomfort abated some. _With any luck the Hound won't take it as a slight,_ he hoped. Last thing he needed were more petty knights. The queen's brothers were quite enough in that regard. 

"How do you know his horse is named Stranger?"

Ned felt his stomach tighten again. 

"The washerwomen talk."

"Excuse me, your grace. I must go see to my daughters," Ned said. He'd put an end to all this talk before someone said something regrettably unforgettable. 

"Sit down, Ned," the King ordered, eyes crinkling at the corners. He was enjoying this far too much for Ned's taste. "I command you!" 

Ned opened his mouth to say something but he knew his efforts would be futile. 

"What were you doing around the washerwomen?" 

"Oh I was… _practising_ in one of the old rooms."

"Practising? What were you working on?" 

"Umm… dancing? I mean,-" _ahem, "- dancing._ I've been trying to get better _."_

_"_ That's wonderful, Arya!" Sansa said, sounding like some big dream of hers came true. "Oh, dancing like a proper lady!" 

_But I know better_. Ned made a mental note to talk to Arya about her dancing. 

"Sure," came Arya's curt response. "Well, anyway. You hear lots of things around washerwomen." 

_Aha! She's changing the subject!_ He knew Sansa wouldn't have a clue about such tactics. _My naive, little, Sansa,_ he thought fondly. 

"Like what?" 

"Oh, this is gotta hear," Ser Jaime said. 

Ned turned to give him a dirty look but found the man occupied by a lunar moth hovering around him. Clegane backed away giving him space, as Jaime shuffled trying to get the moth to go away. 

The giant, teal moth dodged the swats and rested high up on the wall above the Kingslayer's head. 

_Clang! Clang! Yelp!_

"Sandor!" Arya wailed. 

" _Arya!"_

"Growly!" 

"Better. Just ignore him for a little bit. You'll spook him," Sansa said. "Where were we?" 

"Right. Well, I heard the Imp gets around."

"Oh... I don't doubt it. Lord Tyrion must travel a lot. He went to see the Wall just because he wanted to."

"True. They also said his brother could get around. If he wanted to. Then they started laughing."

"Well, he can't just go around! Ser Jaime is Kingsguard! He must always stay with King Robert, unless asked otherwise. Just because he's rich enough to travel doesn't mean he is free to do so."

"True," Ser Jaime laughed. 

Robert had lost his voice and now sat clapping like a sea dog, shaking with laughter. "Get around," he chortled. 

Even the Hound was having trouble keeping a straight face. 

"Oh, look, Arya. It's working. He's coming here." 

"Quiet now. You'll run him off. Play it cool."

"Mhmm. Mhmm. I am the very picture of coolness." 

_Clang!_

There was the unmistakable sound of Arya's snort. It annoyed Catelyn to no end. 

"No, don't! Ar-yaaaa! I almost caught him."

The laughter grew to a wheeze in response. "Sorry -" - _wheeze - "_ I'm trying…" _\- wheeze - "to-"_

Her joy was apparently short lived since there was another of clinks of metal objects falling to the floor. _Clang! Bang! Crash!_

"SANDOR!" two voices scolded. 

" _Growly_!" The same two voices, corrected. 


	3. Chapter 3

The next few days passed by in a blur of fur.

"I don't think I can take this anymore," Arya groaned, rolling the 'r.' She wiped her hands on her breeches leaving damp palm prints. 

Septa Mordane tsked over her knitting. 

"As surprised as I am to say this, I agree with Arya. You need to keep those mutts in the kennels, Sansa," she said. 

Sansa pursed her lips but didn't say anything. She focused on her stitches, wonkier than usual due to her divided attention. 

When she'd told the pups she'd be their mother henceforth, they'd taken it to heart. They followed her around like ducklings, going so far as to scratch at the privy door whenever she had to tend to her business. 

She was continuously covered in enough black fur at any given point, that she could make a decent albiet small cloak for a brother of the Night's Watch. 

By comparison, Arya and Septa Mordane hadn't gotten nearly as much trouble. Sansa even slept on the floor now for she was afraid the puppies would fall off the bed. Her body hurt everywhere from her neck to her calves, but she had shut her trap and huddled up every single time. 

Not once had she wanted to put them in the kennels. 

"King Robert wants us to go check up on the kingsroad tomorrow, since the rains have subsided. Perhaps you could join me, Arya?" Ned said, pitying the prone girl sprawled on the solar sofa.

Arya raised a tired hand and nodded into the cushion. "Ysss nythn frr peace," she muffled.

"And I suppose you could spend the day at the Seven Trees Sept, a couple hours from here, Septa Mordane," he offered. 

"Oh, I'd quite appreciate that Lord Stark," the Septa breathed out. "It is quite a remarkable structure. It would be quite nice to share a peaceful day with fellow servants of the Seven."

"My lord," Vayon Poole said, voice shaky. 

"Yes?"

"May I take my Jeyne along too? Some prayer would do us both much good."

Sansa put her knitting down. "What has happened to Jeyne? No one will let me see her. I've been to the Maester everyday but he refuses to let me see her."

"It's no cause to worry, my lady," Jeyne's father hurried to answer. "She's just been under the weather. We've never travelled so far from home before… I'm hoping some fresh air might lift her spirits." 

Something about the situation seemed off to Sansa, but she held her tongue. _If it were anything very worrying, father would've let me know,_ she reasoned. _Maybe the pups won't let Jeyne have the rest she needs and they don't want me to feel bad about it…_ She'd offer to move the pups to the kennels, but they were so scared at night, especially of thunder. 

Flory would nuzzle into her stomach, and Terry would shake, not to mention all the crying Sandy did till she sang to him.

"Ser, I am very sorry, that the puppies won't let Jeyne rest in her chambers here. I'd leave them in the kennels, but they are much too afraid to be by themselves at night… I hope you'll forgive me," she said, tearing up. 

"No, no. That isn't the reason why, Sansa. I…" Vayon Poole looked about as if the answer to his woes was written on the stone walls of Ploughman's Keep. "It's… nothing you should worry about."

For some reason the first thought in Sansa's head was that it was a matter of women's worries. _Moonblood. That's why no one will speak plainly to me._

"Oh! I understand. Please tell Jeyne I'm most anxiously waiting for her to be back." 

"It's settled then," Lord Stark said, pressing his palms onto the desk as he rose. "Think you can manage to be by yourself for a day, dear? The help will be around, of course. Try not to get in much trouble," he smiled. 

Sansa smiled back. _Trouble? Me? Never._

***

The riders set out at the break of dawn. Septa Mordane, Jeyne and Vayon Poole took the wagon while father, Arya and the rest of their guards took the horses. 

Only two were left behind for Sansa's sake but they seemed to consider this day a holiday.

_Can't say I mind,_ Sansa thought as she waved her family farewell, clutching three leashes tight with one hand. 

She was surprised to note that no one from the royal family had been present. The Queen was unwell was all that was offered by way of forced explanation by Ser Jaime to Ned Stark. 

She returned to the tower that was her abode for the time with newfound elation. As a young lady, she was seldom left by herself, if at all. Always surrounded by handmaidens and servants, her Septa and her lady mother's companions, or guards. Especially guards. 

Sansa sighed contendedly, as she entered her (blissfully empty) chambers. 

Giving the servants the morning off, she barred the door and began to work on settling her pets. 

The early morning walk had tired them some and also stoked their appetites. 

She refilled their bowls of milk and bread, and fluffed out their blankets. Next, she put away their toys - mostly consisting of items that had previously belonged to her. All tasks servants had always done for her. Somehow it had made her feel as though she wasn't really taking care of Lady, merely petting her and sometimes feeding her at the table. 

Completing these seemingly mundane tasks filled her with s sense of accomplishment and pride. 

Once they'd had their fill, Sansa brushed out their fur one by one. 

She cooed to Flory as she ran the brush down his back, she paid special attention to the sore spot on Terry's thigh where the fur was scarce, she sang to Sandy while he barely tolerated her presence. 

After giving each a kiss on their forehead, she carried them to their beds. The night had been particularly stormy and they hadn't had much sleep. (The same couldn't be said of their mistress. She had been so tired, she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.)

Sansa felt absolutely giddy with freedom. _Can't remember the last time I had the room to myself,_ she thought, having always shared her chambers with Arya or handmaidens and bedmates. 

They helped her bathe and dress, did her hair and nails - all of it mostly to her lady mother's taste and her Septa's approval. 

Unsure, but determined, Sansa walked to the door and checked to see if it was barred properly. And she checked it again. 

She shut the windows and drew the curtains close. Then, as quietly as possible, she moved the folding screen so it enclosed the sleeping pups. 

Exhilarated, Sansa began to undo the delicate hairstyle her Tabitha had done for her. She combed her fingers through her thick, silky waves. She turned to look at how long it had gotten, it was almost past her waist now. 

Anxiously, she rechecked the door for good measure and finding it locked, returned to her place before the mirror. Slowly, she began undoing her gown, unknotting and tugging the laces. She wondered if ladies' clothes were so contrived so as to prevent them being taken off easily. 

With her pale pink dress draped over the chair, she started on the skirts, undoing all her handmaiden's hard work with deft pulls and shimmies.Now, clad only in her petticoat, she hesitated. 

It was a strange thing to be shy of yourself. Simple as the experience was, it was also foreign to her. She had never had that kind of privacy ever. Particularly since she understood what privacy meant. Always having someone looming over her one way or another - making sure she didn't stray, never leaving her too long with any boys, even Theon - had taken a mild toll. 

She'd been a troubling mix of completely sheltered, but also warned of the dangers and temptations young women faced during their life. 

_It wasn't intentionally done, of course. That's just how the norm was with ladies of her station. Princess Myrcella's life isn't so different from mine either,_ she mused, twirling before the mirror _._

She wondered if the fair princess had to ever correct herself - reign in her tone, language, feelings, posture, even imagination, as often as Sansa did. 

Constantly putting stops on her desires whenever they did not match what the world wanted had left her so lost, she barely knew who she was once the corset of being a lady was removed. 

Who was Sansa? What were her interests beyond sewing and songs? What would she think of the Dragonknight if people hadn't told her what to? Would she still dare to like what she liked if no one else did? 

She envied Arya on that front. She wished she had more of her sister's stubbornness. Strength to go against the current. 

She breathed in deeply, and opened her trunk. Knowing exactly where it was, she quickly unfolded her large pouch of knitting needles and fished out the periwinkle silk and unfurled it onto her bed. 

Her breathing quickened as if she were committing a crime, but she still lifted her petticoat off and tumbled out of her small clothes. 

She took her place before the mirror, truly seeing herself for the first time.

Everyone she met would tell her she was beautiful, but now she'd analyse it herself. 

She trailed her fingers gently over her stomach, slightly plump now that she'd stopped growing in height. 

The skin on her hips was streaked with long, pale marks. Her breath hitched as she stepped closer to the mirror. 

Angling herself to get the complete view, she continued tracing the lines. They covered her hips on both sides and the back of the tops of her thighs. 

There were some on the back of her arms where they met the shoulder blades and on the sides of her breasts. 

She hadn't seen them on anyone else, but her handmaidens must have seen them on her. They had never acted like it wasn't normal so she let the worry fade away. 

Lifting her feet, as she realised she had never seen the bottom of her feet, she saw the small cracks on her heels despite all the lotions and care. The traced her collarbones, more prominent than she'd ever remembered seeing them. 

She admired the light marks on her hips again. _Like veins on an orchid_ , she thought. 

With sudden energy, she pulled over the periwinkle gown she had found once when visitors from Qarth had stopped by Winterfell some months ago. 

Sansa blushed at the memory.

She didn't remember why but she had gone into one of the usually empty rooms, but she found strange noises coming from the adjoining one. 

While scampering away, she had chanced on the blue gown. It was thin and light, and so very soft, nothing like her heavy Northern gowns. 

It was torn too, the rips in the leg couldn't have been fixed, so she'd taken it. 

It had made her guilty but the options were take it or never see such a thing again. She hid it between some of her old clothes; her first secret. But she never had a chance to actually wear it till now. 

The fabric was just as she remembered. It was as close to being nude as a clothed person could get. The straps were thin over her shoulders, and the dress hugged her body like it was made for it. The rip on the bottom bared her right leg completely but it only added to the charm. It was made for someone shorter but that was no surprise considering how tall Sansa was.

She spent her time dancing around the room, singing about Jenny of Oldstones and the Prince of Dragonflies.

The early rising took its toll soon enough. Putting the dress away, she slipped under the covers naked. 

She sighed blissfully as the mattress supported her in a way the floor could only hope to do.

  
  


A sharp rap on the door startled her from her sleep. She hurried to pull over her shift and lug the folding screen back to its place by her bathtub. 

The knocking became persistent. "M'lady," a woman of the Darry household called. "M'lady, are you sleeping?" _Knock._

"I am awake now," Sansa swung the door open. 

The woman peered inside the room in what she must have thought was a discreet manner. 

"Yes?" Sansa said, squashing the urge to tap her foot. 

"Oh!" The woman jumped. "Oh, yes… M'lady has been called to the Main Hall… m'lady. By the Queen." 

"Oh… certainly," she said, the grogginess of sleep tightening to a ball of nerves in her belly. "Would you help me dress?" She asked, but really it was an order. 

Together, they managed to dress Sansa in half the time it normally took. She pulled half her hair in a braided bun and combed the rest to be as neat as possible. 

Walking towards the Main Hall, she felt her heartbeat in her throat. The whole thing had a grim air about it. 

The hall was crowded, with ladies and the men who hadn't left with the King. Queen Cersei sat at the Lord's seat, her glimmering gold hair flowing down, contrasted by the crimson of her gown. 

Prince Joffrey hopped from foot to foot at her side while Ser Jaime stood still as a statue on the other. 

Through the pillars and the gaps between the audience she saw the Hound down on one knee before the Queen. His roughspun, deep grey cloak fanned out behind him and his raven hair flopped forward as he hung his head, forming a curtain shielding his expression. 

With heavy, slow steps she continued. Her mouth went dry. All the freedom she had felt collapsed on itself and left her feeling helpless and unprotected. 

"Good morning, your grace," she curtsied deeply. 

Joffrey's face twisted into a cruel sneer and he seemed even more agitated than before. 

_Please don't hurt my pups…_ she prayed silently to her parents' Gods. 

Cersei didn't say anything. She maintained her cool silence, eyes boring into Sansa's till the girl lowered her lashes, afraid of being rude. They both kept their silence. 

Sansa understood she was in trouble, just not for what. 

"You set your dog on me!" Joffrey shrieked, after the silence stretched well into the territory of uncomfortable. 

Losing her carefully cultivated calm, Sansa snapped her head up, mouth open. "Wha-"

"It attacked me! That disgusting beast of yours."

She didn't understand. Lady was dead and the pups couldn't have done anything… 

"Your grace?" She tried, softening her voice. She hated how small she sounded just then. How timid. It was a little girl's voice. 

But all the hurt of losing her dear direwolf was crashing down on her anew. All her coherent thoughts were lost save one: _I won't let them hurt my animals again._

Fearful, she turned to the Queen. This was a cold woman with neither love nor pity in her emerald eyes. They sent a chill up Sansa's spine and she felt her own blue ones tear up. Sniffing, she tried to regain her voice but ended up opening and closing her mouth like a fish. 

"No, your grace. I've-"

The Queen lifted her palm to silence her. "Sansa, this sort of behaviour isn't expected of a future queen. Your hounds - they are feral from what I've heard. Destroying the chambers Lord Darry has so generously provided." She smiled down at the castellan, sitting on the lower rung. He seemed stunned for a second, just staring at the woman. Her smile twitched ever so slightly and he immediately straightened up. 

"Thank you, your grace, for considering my Lord's plight…" He seemed at a loss for words, shifting his weight from one leg to another. 

Cersei gave a firm nod and turned her attention forward again. "Sansa, something must be done of those beasts of yours-" 

"They're only puppies, your grace!" Sansa took a few heated steps forward, tears flowing freely. "Just a few weeks old… and they are scared of the storm," she wiped her tears shabbily as the words tumbled out. "I can't leave them in the kennels." 

"That _cur_ was not a pup," Joffrey snapped. "It was giant! And ugly - all black and scarred!" 

"No-" she started but was cut off instantly. 

"It tried to kill me in my _sleep_." 

Sansa began to cry. She gulped, certain that the Queen wouldn't spare them, anymore than she had Lady. _I hate you,_ she thought, as she glared at them through her tears. _I hate you both._

She had never felt so lost before. There wasn't anyone who could save the pups if the prince got it in his mind to do away with them. _No one would stop them. Not father, not the King, no one..._

"Your grace, Bring them here, and we shall see for ourselves," Ser Barristan stepped up, looking uncomfortable. Sansa felt like she could finally breathe. 

The Queen pursed her lips clearly offended but nodded towards two guards anyway. "Bring the dogs," she commanded. 

A smug smile etched across Joffrey's plump lips. Sansa wasn't one inclined to violence but this instant she wanted nothing more than to slap it off his face.

Pushing down the urge with her years of teaching, she let her features settle into a neutral mask. 

_Let them see,_ she thought. _Let them see the crown prince cowering before three puppies. Oh, no one will ever let him forget it._ She felt quite smug herself now. 

The Hound sat so still, he might as well have been carved from stone. He barely stirred when the first of the yelps were heard. 

All her bravado lost, Sansa resisted the urge to wring her hands or run towards the sound. 

_Sandy…_ the knot in her stomach suddenly enlarged, she felt like her heart was going to jump out of her chest. 

The pup twisted and tried to bite the hand that held it up by the scruff of his neck. 

Sansa didn't realise she had been nearly jumping from foot to foot. 

"Your grace," the guard moved to place the puppy at the queen's feet. Cersei squealed and motioned the guard to get it away. 

"My pardons, my queen," he mumbled, shuffling back and nearly dropping the wriggling animal on the ground. 

Sansa fell on her knees just as Sandy ran to her. 

She stroked him softly, "I'm sorry…" she told him, swiping away the tears that fell on him. He wagged his tail, back in good spirits again.

She looked up, hoping this must've satisfied the queen. Ser Jaime looked ashamed. A shocking sight for northerners. A lunar moth rested on his pauldron nearly covering it. 

"No! What's this _thing_?" Joffrey sneered. "How dare you lie to the Queen, Sansa?" He took a few steps down and Sansa scooped up Sandy. 

The pup growled baring his tiny teeth. 

Joffrey looked at it uncertainly and took a measured step back. Sansa was sure she didn't imagine the disgust on Jaime's and Ser Barristan's face. 

The Queen herself was unimpressed. "Speak plainly, Joffrey." 

"This isn't her dog! That beast was huge! Almost as big as mine," the Prince seethed. 

"Where have you been hid-" 

"I've heard enough," the Queen said. Her voice was clipped. She gathered her skirts as if preparing to get up. 

"Clegane, what have you got to say for yourself?" 

The Hound straightened up, the hair falling away from his scars. They knelt side by side, yet he radiated more confidence than all the Lords in the hall. 

"Your grace," he rasped. "I was on duty the whole night by the Prince's door. No one went in or out."

"The whole night?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't leave your post?"

"No, I didn't."

"Did you fall asleep?" 

"No," he said, his voice still devoid of emotions. 

"Pass out, then? Had you been drinking?" The Queen asked, a vision of innocence but for the cruel gleam in her eye. 

The hall erupted with laughter. The Hound's mouth twitched, and Sansa looked away again. 

He didn't give an answer, merely straightened his spine, still down on one knee. 

"Think that settles it, then. This is your fault, Clegane. First you left the crown prince unprotected, then you couldn't find the brute who attacked my son. And now you blacked out on duty. You've failed in the most miserable way possible." 

Sansa felt bad for Sandor Clegane. _It was Joffrey who told him to stay away. None of this would've happened if he hadn't._

"You will fix your mistake," the Queen ordered. "Clegane, you are hereby dismissed from your duties as Joffrey's Sworn Shield. You will help train Lady Sansa's new pets."

The snickering became louder.

Cersei continued, "Ser Clegane was a legend when it came to kennel masters. As his grandson, surely you can handle this?"


	4. Chapter 4

Pink rose petals fell slowly as if suspended in time, as Sansa watched the vase shatter to pieces with a clang.

The pups had finally woken up and were now to be introduced to their new trainer. 

She'd left Sandor Clegane in the solar while she retreated to her room. Burying her face in Sandy's soft fur, she wept with relief that her puppies weren't to be harmed. If it meant their safety, she'd learn to deal with the Hound. 

It had been a good few hours since her meeting with the queen and she'd put off following her new instructions long enough. 

"All right, now," she said, fetching the pup's basket. She changed the cloths laying in first an old bedsheet, the a black mantle she found in her and Arya's trunk that they shared. She was reluctant to use it just in case it was Theon's but there wasn't a kraken on it anywhere so she supposed it must've been Jon's and gotten mixed up while packing. 

Sansa placed it over the bedsheet and covered it with the tiny quilt she'd finished earlier that week. 

As usual, the pups refused to co-operate and she resorted to taking them down to the solar leashed. 

"Now, be nice," she told them. "He can be a little scary, but if you're nice to him, I'm sure he'll be nice to us. 

"And don't bite! No biting, you hear me? I'm talking to you especially," she said, kissing the top of Terry's head. He licked her nose and she giggled. 

Sandy growled as Sansa tried to put his leash on. He'd returned to his spot by the laundry bags where he hid his brush. Having been in a foul mood since his near death experience, just this once, Sansa was inclined to indulge him. 

"Ummmmm… alright how about this? You stay here and play while I take your brother's down to meet Ser Sandor. And then I'll come get you. Sounds good?" 

Sandy made a soft noise between a purr and a rumble which she took as a yes. Locking the door, and straightening out her skirts she head out. 

Florian was by far the most well behaved of the three though one wouldn't describe him as well behaved per se. 

He trotted along happily while Terrance sniffed and nipped the passing servants. 

"My pardons," Sansa said, to each one. "He's just a curious one. I'm sorry." 

  
  


Sandor Clegane seemed to emit darkness as much as he absorbed light from any given room.

Two of Ned's men that stood guard at the door absolutely kept alternating between gawking and ignoring the big man as if he were a spectacle and an irritable animal at the same time. Sansa asked them to wait by the tower entrance, in an attempt to send them away. This would go easier with as few spectators as possible. 

"Good afternoon, my lord," she said, as she entered. The pups started barking excitedly as he turned, straining their leashes to go towards the Hound. "This is Florian and Terrance," she said, to his knees. "I hope they don't prove to be too much trouble." 

Not knowing what else to say, she focussed on being polite beyond reproach. They had to spend every free moment for the next foreseeable months training the pups.

The Queen hadn't deemed his dressing down sufficiently humiliating, and had gone so far as to order the servants to leave all of a kennel master's duties to the Hound when it came to Sansa's pack of three. 

He was to bathe them, feed them, brush them, clean up after them, and watch over them as his penance for slacking off. 

"We could start by consulting the kennel master, my lord," Sansa said, finally. _His grandfather's grandson he may be but I doubt he knows anything about caring for dogs. No more than I know about ruling the North_ , she mused. Besides, there was only so much glowering in silence she could stand. 

"I'm no lord, girl," he rasped, close before her in two long strides. Her heart did a summersault as a strong hand lifted her chin. "We'll start by getting you used to my face. You'll be seeing it plenty now." 

She nodded wordlessly and he let her go. Both took a step back. 

He crouched down and pushed his hands towards the pups for them to smell. He ruffled Flory's fur a bit too harshly for Sansa's liking and lifted Terry one handed as the pup bit his shoes. 

But somehow, they didn't seem to mind. 

They barked excitedly and wagged their tails so swiftly, it was hard to see them at all. 

The pups were usually very protective of her so Sansa couldn't help but feel a pang of anger as they took to him immediately, despite his inappropriate behaviour. "They like you," she had to concede. _But why?_

"Aye," he said, simply, now sitting cross-legged as they jumped all around him. 

There was a sharp series of yelps and growls and before either Sansa or Sandor could go see what it was, the third pup dashed into the room, destroyed hair brush in mouth. His muffled barks added to the commotion in the room.

"This must be Sandor then," the Hound said. 

Sansa's mouth open. "Whu-- what? No… I - uh," she stuttered. He raised his one good brow and the good side of his mouth pulled into a smirk. 

She cleared her throat. "His name is Aleksander," she informed him. "I call him Sandy for short."

"Since when?" 

"Since always."

He cocked his head to the side, challenging her. "Is that so?" 

"Well, yes," she said with confidence she didn't feel. She didn't know who had ratted her little joke to the Hound but there was no way he'd know for certain unless she showed some weakness. 

To her surprise, he snorted. "You're sister's right, girl. I don't give a rat's arse what you call your mutt. I've had worse insults."

_Arya?!_ Sansa was shocked. Of all the people to tattle on her - _Arya? Oooohh, how could she? It's not like she's got a clean slate with mischief!_

Wringing her hands, she tried to formulate her redemption. 

The Hound didn't care though. He had moved on. Sandy teetered before Sandor, unable to decide if he should get closer or not. 

Suspicious and on alert, he took a gamble and took a turn about the man smelling him. 

Sandor lifted a hand to pet him but Sandy bristled immediately. He growled and ran to Sansa. Then putting the brush at her feet, began to bark furiously at the Hound. 

Sandor laughed, the sound of an ilk with the barking. "Frankly, I get it," he said, gently smoothening out Terry's ear which had flipped. 

On top her annoyance was now an added layer of embarrassment. She let him take center stage as she shuffled about the room relighting candles, Sandy at her heels.

_Oh, I just hope father will be back soon..._

___________

**Jeyne**

" … and you remember Hully's girl? The one that done run off with that blacksmith? Oh, nasty business, that. Got her with child before her fifteenth nameday and did she suffer for it. You may feel like you've grown up, Jeyne - I did at your age. Thought I knew everything there was worth knowing. But you don't even know what you don't know right now…" father patted Jeyne's hand. 

She stopped her gazing out of the cart enough to look at him and nod. The King's excursion to the kingsroad had been cut short by a landslide and the only successful trip had been Jeyne and Septa Mordane's. The smell of sandalwood incense still lingered in her clothes and she doubted it would go away unless scrubbed off with a good amount of soap. 

"That girl, she thought herself in love and to be sure he was the kind young girls would swoon over. And - what was her name? Noki - Nosie??... Nancy?"

"Nohisa," Septa Mordane supplied from the back, as she ate more of her fried prawns straight off the butterpaper. 

"That's it!" Vayon Poole snapped his fingers. "Poor girl. Had an Essosi mother -girl was bastard born, to be sure…." 

Jeyne let him trail off as she her fingers ghosted over the talisman the Septon had given her. A large, ugly, oval pendant on a chain so big it fell in her lap while she sat. 

The smooth jade was a of deep blue - which only water really was - with some green cutting in at the edges. But everything that surrounded it was a tarnished mess. The silver had blackened in the rings of the chain and the engraved seven pointed star at the back didn't help matters much. 

"There was also the Ruth girl. She was s'possed to marry Ser Yonathan from way up North, right? And then she thought she'd do better than him. He wasn't much to look at, that one, and quite a bit older than the girl. But a good man nevertheless. She was reading above her station, as it is, being a merchant's daughter. Wasn't like her father was from money either. Two steps removed from beggars was them," father continued. 

Suppressing a sigh and nodding along, Jeyne just wished for the journey to be over. 

All around she could hear the men chattering and way in front, the King laughing his boisterous laugh. She could almost imagine the prim smile on Lord Stark's face as he tried to steer the king away from scandalous conversation with little success. 

The way back to Castle Darry was the same as the journey away - wet. She tucked in her gown further and pulled away from the edge of the cart trying to keep her skirts from the rain. 

"So the girl, she thought, pretty as she was, she'd find someone better than the knight and next thing you know, she's run off with her neighbour's son. Waste of a good match. She ran off and the knight kept the dowry money - almost all the merchant's savings. He had many more daughters… couldn't arrange matches for them that weren't plucking him clean," Vayon said.

"See, Jeyne - daughters can bring ruin to a family with their actions. A girl must be careful and not ask for too much," the Septa intoned. _If it were up to her, every girl in the world would be a Septa or a servant._

"Yes, Septa Mordane," she said, doing her best to keep the tiredness out of her voice. 

Even the footmen had joined her father's track sharing horror stories of various girls that dared to make their own choices. Died in childbirth, died of a broken heart, is now an ugly hag living on the edge of the town because she bore bastards of some hedge knight, raising seven children by herself, is a spinster since no one wanted to marry her as she was a wanton woman. 

One was literally eaten by a wolf. 

"Yes, I get it," she snapped, embarrassed, around the tenth story of doom and destruction. "I understand what you are saying." 

A flash of hurt and comprehension passed her father's eyes. He pat her hand again, and they sat in silence. "Yes, good… Good. Now we can all just calm down. Aren't you glad we visited Septon Ray?"

"Yes, father."

"That's my girl! Now, just you see, this whole thing will be behind us."

_And don't forget: don't tell anyone else what you told me and the Maester,_ was left unsaid but not unheard. As was _, no more visiting the pond for you._

  
  


"How's the fever?" Jory asked, pulling up to the cart, mercifully. "You alright, Jeyne?" 

"Yes, Ser Jory," she smiled. He good-naturedly ruffled her hair in the way that always irritated her. Laughing as she pulled a face, he trotted his horse to the other side to converse with father about some mishap or another. 

"... Master Bran's fever is broken," Jory was saying. "Him and Lady Stark should be taking a ship to King's Landing in about a month's time. I dare say, they'll reach the capital before we do…" 

  
  


"Look how kind everyone everyone is," her father pointed out to her in hushed tones once Jory left. "Trust me, not everyone is this good to their stewards, Jeyne. Look we have our own carriage and Lord Stark excused my duties so I could be by your side…" 

_There we go again. The 'how lucky are we because Lord Stark is kind' talk. How many times have I heard Theon get it?_

To her credit, it had been a while since her last one. 

That one was before they left Winterfell. Jeyne didn't want to go but she didn't exactly have a choice. No one ever asked her if she wanted to go. 

Sansa had been crying for Lady for three weeks but no one really cared how Jeyne had cried for Tony and Tina for nearly twice as long. A lady's direwolf was surely more important than a future stewardess's mice. 

Somehow even the comfort of Lady Sansa's dogs was more important than Jeyne and Vayon Poole's who had spent the last week in the Maester's side room. Her neck still hurt because of the pillow, which for all she knew could've been made of stone. 

Surprisingly though, it was easier with Sansa than with Arya. People much preferred their leiges to be beautiful and strong and skilled. It was easy then to accept that their lot in life was much better than yours, since they were better than you too. It was why everyone would've much preferred the king to look like Ser Jaime Lannister. 

Sansa was always beautiful, perfect in everything - from sewing to courtesy, to her knowledge of the Seven Kingdoms. Her life could turn out like a song. There were surely enough songs about rescued princesses and noble ladies than common girls. 

None about stewardesses in Jeyne's knowledge, at least. She'd be lying if she said it wasn't why she loved the songs about Jenny the most... 

With Arya… it was a glaring reminder that no matter how unsuitable her behaviour was, how much she acted like a farm boy than a true lady, her future was far brighter than Jeyne's could ever be. Her lot in life would be to follow Sansa Stark around. First as a friend, then as a companion, and eventually as her glorified handmaiden. If she were lucky, she'd marry some knight in Sansa's service and hope he'd treat her well. 

If you were a worm, you daren't envy an eagle his wings but if you were a worm, you could surely begrudge a beetle his legs. 

She tried to come up with a more flattering analogy, but was distracted by the sudden change in energy around her. 

Darren reigned his horse before Lord Stark as he whispered some urgent news. 

They exchanged more words, of which Jeyne only heard Hound, Queen and drunk. 

She mused that was information enough that something bad had happened. 

Father pulled his hood over as he got down to see what the matter was. 

Septa Mordane, loathe to leave an opportunity to sing praises of her employers, began to talk of how she was fortunate to have gotten such a lovely family to serve. Even Arya, in her own way. 

Jeyne tuned out the rest of it, her thoughts eventually circling to Theon whenever she heard this. _Do they not see how blank his eyes get when they give him this lecture? Or do they give it to him because his eyes get so blank?_

Lord Stark sighed at length, pulling Jeyne from her thoughts. 

"... You need to stay with your girl, Vayon. I'll send Jory ahead...By the old Gods… the Hound?" He muttered to himself almost without realising. 

  
  


"The fever has gone, hasn't it? Do you feel well l, child?" Lord Stark said, once they had regained their pace. "A change of weather does this, don't you worry." 

Jeyne smiled at him nodding. Everytime Lord Stark spoke to her, it felt like some benevolent God had come in person and spoken to her, such was his picture in her mind thanks to Vayon Poole. 

She didn't mention to him that she only got fever that first night. Never after. 

_And thank the Gods for that_ , she thought. _Stheno means well but who could even imagine what kind of diseases she could carry._

She traced the swirling pattern around the jade pendant. It was supposed to ward off demons and strange thoughts. 

Jeyne was terribly ill, her father was convinced. Only it was easier to say she was ill with fever than with delusions. 

_I told him I'm not making it up. If he just came with me to the pond, he'd have seen for himself._ Looking back, she shouldn't have mentioned Stheno at all but it was the first time in her life she had something superior to Sansa's. A kraken - even a small one was superior to puppies any day. 

She usually would have chided herself that it wasn't hers, but she felt a bone deep sense that it was, so she didn't. She named the kraken, not knowing if it's a girl or a boy and brought it fishcakes and bread - even fruit for good measure. How was she to know what krakens eat? She read about krakens in the books from the Maester Timothy's library. Sadly, there wasn't much to inform her what they ate, or if they could live in ponds, but she did learn how they had eight or so limbs ( _a lie. Stheno had about twenty counting the ones that were not quite tentacles_ ), and could crush a warship with them _(believable)_ , they were mostly of a pinkish or bluish hue, the biggest ones being a somewhat purple grey. 

_I shouldn't have touched her,_ she thought, resisting the urge to scratch the whiplike marks on her forearm where the kraken had coiled one of its golden limbs and tried to pull her into the water. _Oh… I hope I still remember how to swim._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: In mythology, Stheno was Medusa's immortal sister who killed more men than both her sister's combined.


	5. Chapter 5

"Didn't you _just_ go?" the Hound rasped, the vein in his forehead throbbing. "Fucker." He turned to grab a rag from the small but substantially growing pyramid of cleaning cloths. 

"It's normal for pup's to go every -" Sansa started, defensively but was cut short by a withering glare from the hunched over man. 

His deep grey cloak lay on the armchair, the newly washed, damp spot facing the fire. That had also been Florian's doing.

"It's alright Flo," she murmured, picking up her baby. "It's not your fault. It's only natural," she stroked his soft head. Florian breathed heavily as he sniffed and tried to chew her hair that fell out of its arrangement. 

Sansa kissed his head and took him to the other corner of the room. 

Thunder roared outside. The other two pups rushed to her, whimpering, their fur standing stiff. Pushing her knitting basket to the side, she sat on the floor by the fireplace. She rested her back against the heavily cushioned armchair and pulled the puppies into her lap. 

Sandy growled softly, nudging her hand with his snout. "Alright then. Which one shall I sing this time?" 

Flo and Terry began pawing at each other and she had to pause her musings to hold them apart.

The Hound grumbled to himself - something about coddling and brats - as he disposed of the rag. Stalking away to the basin, he scowled once again at Florian who yelped back smugly before cosying up to Sansa. 

"You all best behave," she told them, scandalized. Sometimes it was almost as if the pups _understood_ what she was saying. Not that they paid much heed to her scoldings, even if they did. 

She sighed. Lightning flashed behind the glass window before another rumble of thunder echoed in the castle. Flo and Sandy began barking at the window. The rain poured even more heavily, with a sudden increase in speed. 

"Just hope father and Jeyne and Arya come back soon. Look how hard it rains," she thought outloud. "Oh! You don't think they got stuck or something, do you?" Anxiety gnawed at her and she at her cheek. "Should I see about sending someone to check? I could ask one of the guard-" 

"They'll be fine, girl. Just some rain. Best believe your father and the King have been through worse. Was there for some of it myself," Sandor Clegane entered wiping his hands on a tiny, flowery towel. 

"Thank you, my lord," she said, softly. "I'm only a little worried." 

"Hmmph." 

He looked around the room, trying to find something to do but everything was for once, in order. He grunted as he sat on the floor with her, leaning against the sofa parallel to the fireplace. Pushing the small tea table away with his foot, he crossed his ankles. Once there was space enough to fit his mile long legs, of course. 

Terrance ventured out to him, sniffing cautiously at his worn maroom leather boots and black breeches. "Targaryen colours," she muttered without thinking. _Fitting for Castle Darry._ Sansa had of course heard the stories. The Darrys had been staunch supporters of the Targaryens. Another reason why the King had been so adamant about leaving. 

"What?" He snapped. 

"Nothing my lord… just your clothes," she said, careful to keep her eyes on Aleksander who had relaxed into a fitful sleep. _He didn't even get his song,_ she thought. _I'll sing to you_ _once you wake, love._

The Hound barked out a laugh and Terry jumped. All four limbs in the air for a split second. 

She laughed too. 

"Startled you, did I?" He asked, dragging the pup to him and placing him in his lap. Terrance bit at his hand, but the Hound was too fast for it. "Mangy, little cur," he said, almost fondly. Sansa sneaked a peek at his face. The scars were towards her, illuminated by the firelight. His raven hair gleamed white - and even blue in places - over them. Thankfully, his eyes were busy assessing the puppy in his lap, undisturbed by Sansa's gaze. 

Terrance caught hold of his sleeve and tugged. Sandor lifted his arm, to get it away from him but the pup came with it. He brought up a giant hand to support Terry as he dangled in the air, kicking upwards. Mirth changed his eyes from steel to silver. 

"Not getting any prettier than this," the Hound said, still not looking at her. 

She blushed, and turned away. "I'm sorry for staring, my lord," she mumbled out. She stole one last glance at him. A flash of hurt passed his face at her apology but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. She remembered the time on the kingsroad when he thought he'd frightened her but it had been Ser Ilyn.

She hadn't meant to stare. Only it was refreshing and somehow comforting, seeing him for once relaxed. She had avoided him as best as she could all the way from Winterfell apart from that one day when everything went wrong. And then just a while ago, he'd said she better learn to look at him. _A true lady wouldn't hurt someone's feelings like this,_ she decided.

"My lord," Sansa surprised even herself by saying. 

He made no answer, but looked up at her. 

"My lord… that day…" her courage faltered, but she was determined to keep going. "At the kingsroad…" 

Freeing his hand from Terry's maw, he straightened up and crossed his arms looking even bigger than usual. 

Sansa turned to look him full in the face. She tried her best to address all of him and not just the good side. "I was… it wasn't you." She cleared her throat. "It was Ser Ilyn who frightened me. I was just startled by you, that's all." She lowered her lashes at that last admission and fidgeted with her sash. The weight of his scrutiny fell on every part of her. Feeling exposed, she turned to pull her knitting basket forth, just to have something between them. 

"'S that right," he said, at last. 

"Yes." 

Sandy tumbled off her lap, dreaming and gently rolled down to Flo. She grabbed their tiny blanket and laid it flat. Next she put the two pups on it. They stirred but didn't wake. Eventually, finding their way to form one little pile of black fluff. 

Unable to keep the find smile from her face, she got up - careful not to make a sound. 

"Would you care for some lemon cakes, my lord? Or shall I send for something else?" She asked, as she headed towards the corner table laden with snacks. 

His eyebrows - or rather brow - shot up in what could only be genuine shock. 

"I was going to get some myself," she said, defensive again. He was quite hard to talk to. _Not a very groundbreaking assessment all things considered._

"No." 

"Are you sure? I believe you didn't have lunch either. I could ring up someth-" 

"Save your breath," he snapped, all the bite gone from his voice. 

Sana found herself concerned. He busied himself playing with Terry, scruffing his belly while he lay on his back. 

"Have I given offence, my lord? I beg-"

"I'm not a lord," he shot at her, voice choked with - contempt? Anger? Desperation? Loathing? 

"Not a lord, girl. You get that fixed in your empty little head before I thrash you bloody all down the stairs of this damned castle. I'm a dog. Lower even than these _mutts_ of yours."

Even Terrance was taken aback. He clumsily rolled and got to his feet. 

Sansa checked and was relieved to find his little outburst hadn't woken up the rest of them. 

Sandor made a move to pet Terry but he scampered back soundlessly. Sometimes he reminded Sansa of Ghost with how silent he was. 

She went to the table. With her hunger lost in anxiety, it was mostly to hide her face from him. He didn't need to see her cry twice in one day. 

_Even the back of his head looks angry._

The fork rattled against the porcelain plate as she piled on a slice of apple pie - no longer in the mood for her favourite dish. The smell of cinnamon filled the room. 

Sansa failed at choking back a sniffle and decided to just sit at the table for her meal. She considered going to her chambers but not only was that awfully rude, but also she didn't want to leave the pups alone with him. The chair scraped against the floor as she pulled. 

Curiosity got the best of her as the silence stretched on, the faint pattering of the rain fading into the background. 

The Hound's shoulders drooped forward, palm outstretched as he tried to get Terrance to play with him but the pup maintained a safe, cold distance. 

From here, she could only see his unscarred side with its hooked nose and sharp angles. Emotions flashed through his face like the pages of a book flipped too fast. Anger. Frustration. Confusion. More anger. But he looked _sad_ more than anything else. He moved slightly and she quickly turned away. 

"I haven't eaten in _polite company_ since I was seven," his rasp pierced through the silence. 

At a loss for words, she simply turned in her chair to face him. 

"Not that I've been invited, mind you," he laughed. It was a hollow, bitter laugh. 

He turned his face towards her fully. "This," he gestured with stiff fingers to his scarred side, "can look even worse, you best believe that." 

She felt tears form anew but this time at the faded note of dejection in his words. 

Sansa got another plate and cut another generous slice of pie. 

"Here, my lord," she said, resting a hand on his shoulder, her voice as quiet as his was racous. 

She held the plate to him. 

He looked as if she had slapped him in the face with a bouquet of winterroses. 

"Its not a jape, little bird. Not a sight-" 

"I insist," she thrust it towards him unmoving till he took the plate. Proud of herself, she went to get her plate and perched on her place by the other two pups. Terry nuzzled upto Sandor's hip. 

The eating wasn't nearly as bad as he'd mentioned. The scars largely didn't move which made the chewing lopsided. And he tended to get crumbs on that side, Sansa pressumed because he couldn't feel them there. The way he acted to hide it, you'd think it was a beast devouring his prey. Constantly wiping the burnt side, turning away and even horking down the last few bites into one big one and running off to get water. 

A pang of sympathy dashed into her like a battering ram. She hoped he'd find a way to be comfortable with her. They were to be spending a lot of time together after all. 

"Little bird?" She asked, after a time. 

"Aye, little bird. With all your humming and chirping." 

She hadn't realised she'd been humming. How many times had she been caught humming to herself while sewing or reading or while dinner was being served? Even during silent prayer in the Godswood. It was a habit she'd thought long broken by Septa Mordane. 

Sansa smiled, somehow satisfied she'd retained it afterall. _Little bird. I like it._

  
  


"When did you change the mutt's name?" He said, pulling her out of her thoughts and thrusting her again into a cold lake of embarrassment.

"Uh - whuh - whaaa?" She sputtered, gracelessly. 

He grinned at her and - oh! what a terrifying sight. Or it would've been if his eyes weren't so light. The scars pulled his lips asymmetrically outwards while the other side turned up perfectly. 

She could only blink at him for a second. It was the first real grin he'd given her. _Or anyone_ , the thought sprang to mind. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," she turned her nose upwards indignantly. 

He snorted. "Pretty little thing. And such a bad liar." 

"His name is _Aleksander_."

Before she could add anything else, there was a loud squeak of the main door opening. 

"Oh, Sandorinooo." Arya sang, "I brought you a preeee-seeeent!" 

____________

" _See_ ! I'm _not_ lying, father," Prince Joffrey whined, thrusting his hand towards his clothes trunk which had giant scrapes on the sides. Scrapes which could've only been made by a very large animal. 

"Hmmm…" King Robert ran his hand through his beard, stroking it to a blunt point. "Strange. Strange, indeed. What do you have to say for yourself, child?" He turned to Sansa. 

The group - the royal family and their Kingsguard, the Hand and his daughters, and the Hand's daughter's newly appointed kennel master- stood at the threshold of the prince's bedchamber. It was a right mess - broken vases, ripped bedding, clawed curtains, countless claw marks on every surface. The ashes from the fireplace were scattered around the carpet. Half smudged paw prints from which it was near impossible to glean the movement of their creator, littered the floor. 

Ned Stark laid a reassuring hand on Sansa's back. 

"Your grace, I am sorry but I have no idea how this could've happened," she said, at once. "I am very worried for my prince, truly… but I must insist, they are merely five weeks old. Not even all of them combined into one could've done this. Please, your grace-"

He silenced her with a wave of his hand. 

"Clegane?" King Robert turned to the Hound.

The Hound stepped forward and bowed his head and kept his gaze on the floor. 

"Yes, your grace."

"Cersei tells me you were passed out drunk when this happened. Is this true?" 

Sandor Clegane seemed to shrivel up inward. "No, your grace. I had no wine. I must have dozed off. I never should have let it happen." 

"And this?" Prince Renly gestured to the room from the frazzled curtains to the shattered vases. "This didn't wake you up? How'd the animal get in anyway? Now don't lie, Clegane Off for a tumble in the broomshed were you?" His perfect lips pulled into a smirk, blue eyes full of amusement.

Sandor's good ear turned pink, as did his usually sallow cheekbone. Sansa never thought she'd see the Hound of all people blush, but there it was. Pink as a rose on a summer day. 

He made a harsh noise that might've been him clearing his throat and reset his shoulders. "I did not leave my post until morning, Lord Renly," he ground out. 

"When was the last time you were off duty?" Ned asked, craning his neck to look at the Hound. 

"About a week ago." 

"You've been with the prince every minute of the last week?" 

"Pretty much," the Hound said, starting to sound bored. 

"And sleep?" 

"I manage."

When he offered no further explanation, Ned Stark turned to the King. 

"Robert this is-"

"Gah! This whole thing is a pile of shi-" the king flung the spare roll of parchment he was fiddling with into the ink pot. Tiny splatters splashed out staining the Queen's stunning ivory gown. 

Her mouth twisted in distaste and her eyes took on an icy quality. 

"Hound, you've been at this for years! Why in the buggering hells didn't you arrange for another guard?" 

Sandor Clegane's head turned almost instinctively towards the Queen before he stopped himself. "The Queen wanted me to stand guard at all times since the wolf bite. I've been taking breaks when the prince is with her or his uncle."

King Robert considered this. He sent a sideways glance to the Queen as if promising a discussion about this later. 

"The man's overworked like a bull. Can't blame him for nodding off," Renly said. "But a punishment is a must," his eyes shone with mirth. "He jeopardized the safety of the Crown Prince. And what a fitting one our Queen has chosen. _Besides_ , now that Ser Barristan is here," he moved to stand behind the knight and clapped his hands on his shoulders, "my dear nephew is in good hands."

Ser Barristan forced out a wobbly smile, his eyes panicked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey❤️  
> With everything going on in the world, it's really important for us to stand together and stay strong.  
> Please take care of your health - mental and physical. 
> 
> I hope you're all doing well, and that this story brings you a smile❤️


	6. Chapter 6

**Jaime**

Moonglow filtered in through the pale white curtains, bringing the fragrance of lilies with it. Someone was singing in the distance, a sweet, high voice. Jaime recognised the words to Florian and Jonquil. 

What had become the Lannister side of the castle, ironically had a full view of the Godswood. As he leaned out, Jaime saw the mismatched forms of Sandor Clegane and Sansa Stark taking the dogs for their nightly walk. _Hard pair to miss, those two,_ he thought. _Maybe if she were taller…_

The Hound would stay one step behind the lady but she would wait for him to catch up to her side. They strolled in this odd rhythm, neither willing to leave their stance. 

Jaime drummed his fingers in tune on the windowsill as the instrumental part of Sansa's song came. 

He was happy for this one evening. Robert had had enough of his family and had gone off to get pissed somewhere and after days, he finally had time alone with Cersei. 

He turned to see her reaction but she was busy brushing her hair. He caught her eye in the mirror before her and smiled. 

"Must you brandish that disgusting thing everywhere you go?" Cersei sneered at him. 

He instinctively lifted his hand to shield the blue-green moth resting on his shoulder. 

"I'm sick of it, Jaime," she snapped. "Get rid of it." The queen's chambers were lit by soft candles giving out an orange-yellow glow. Common tiny moths gathered around the ones by the window while the ones inside were left alone. 

"Well go on," Cersei nodded towards the window, rubbing some sweet smelling butter into her hands. 

Jaime took a deep breath and lifted the moth gently. It's furry antennas twitched. 

"You'll find me later," he half assured, half asked it, not knowing if it would do any good… but so far it had, hadn't it? The moth had taken a fancy to Jaime's pauldron and he often perched on it day and night. Sometimes moving to rest right above his heart. 

_It isn't disgusting,_ he wanted to tell her. _It's beautiful._ It had a soft, little furry body and each wing was bigger than Jaime's palm. They were a peculiar green blue which reminded him of the ocean - when he'd go to the beach with mother - some of his happiest memories. The wings were lined with gold and had long trailing wisps which shone pink and pale blue.

It was a peculiar little thing. 

Having heard of luna moths, but never seen one, he didn't want to kill it when it first came to him. 

He recalled missing out on most of the fun that day when Ned Stark's girls were chatting up a storm. 

He hadn't been able to shirk it off since then and truth be told he had never really tried. He hadn't had a pet since father had had his rabbit - Brightbean - taken away when he became a squire. "They'll all laugh at you," he'd said. "A rabbit is no pet for a lion. It's _weak_ ." An iron fist gripped his heart as he recalled the rabbit stew served at dinner that night. _There was no way to be sure,_ Jaime had told himself... He hadn't touched a rabbit since. 

The moth had fluttered out but seemed to sense his sadness. It flew back inside and rested on his heart. Jaime suppressed a smile. 

"Is it gone?" There was the _clink clink clink_ of Cersei opening the wine decanter and lifting a goblet. 

With one heavy sigh, he brushed it off briskly and away it went. 

"Yes."

"Good," she said, as he turned. She leaned against the bedframe and smiled at him. He couldn't ever pinpoint what it was that made their smiles - so similar in form - so different. 

As usual, he went to her. 

*** 

The moth hadn't returned. It had been two full hours since he'd come back to his chambers. It saddened him more than he could account for. 

Jaime left the window open even though it was cold as the Stranger's breath outside. _At least it isn't raining,_ he consoled himself. He hoped it wouldn't until the moth was safely back in his box (His or hers, he wasn't sure. Were there girl and boy moths?). He even lit candles - in the window, at his desk and by his armour. _The moth liked it, right?_

_If only Tyrion could see me now,_ he almost laughed to himself. _The Kingslayer, worried about a moth…_

Sleep didn't come to him, no more than his pet did. 

Cursing the cold, Jaime dressed in his thickest cloak and warmest breeches and set out. He wandered aimlessly about Castle Darry as he had done for years in the Red Keep. He noticed things most people didn't - a side effect of going unnoticed for so long, himself. The faint unevenness of the floor and the distance between the torches. The worn out corners where people would caress the stone. _What's it with people and touching walls?_ He thought, touching the wall as he walked down another empty corridor. The gargoyles peered down from their high seats. There were lots of reptilian looking ones, especially in the older parts of the castle, Jaime observed. 

He went to the kitchen to fetch some melons and oranges. He remembered the bug eyeing his fruit plate. 

" _Oof_!" A small, hooded figure dashed into him as he entered the kitchens. "I beg pardons, my lord," the girl said. 

Jaime was just about to wave her off when something tumbled out of her hands and fell on his foot. 

"Stealing food are you?" He raised a brow. 

The girl backed away, shaking her head vehemently. "N-n-no, m-my lord… I'm sorry. I'll put it back," she hastened to pick up the fallen apple when two oranges, grapes, another apple, and half a dozen bananas fell out. A bag hung by her hip smelling suspiciously like fish cakes.

"By the seven, who eats this much fruit?" He asked, bending to help her. 

"I... - uh - thank you, muh - my lord," she stammered out. 

"What's your name?" 

"I'm truly sorry, my lord… I shan't steal again. I won't I swear on -"

"Name."

"Jeyne, my lord." 

He pulled off her hood. "Ah! The Stark girl's friend. You're the one everyone's saying lost her marbles, aren't you? Of the pool kraken fame! Find a dragon in the dungeon yet?" 

She flapped her mouth open and shut seemingly out of a response. Eventually she just nodded, looking down, a sudden anger filling her pretty features. 

"I'm not crazy, my lord," she said. 

"Sure you are. No sane person eats melons and bananas at the same time." 

To his surprise, her lips quirked up into a small smile. 

"Well, run along then," he ordered, giving her a soft push between the shoulder blades. "And toss me an orange while you're at it."

  
  


After another hour of tedious wandering, Jaime hit gold.

There was light coming from underneath one of the rooms. Bored and in need of entertainment Jaime promptly put his ear to the door. 

"...haven't seen one of these in ages," Robert was saying. 

Someone else replied but Jaime couldn't make out what. "Whass it called again?" 

"Moon moth, if I remember," Ser Barristan said. 

Jaime knocked before he realised what he could alter his response. 

"Whoosss eet?" Robert was in his cups again. _Shocking._

"It's me, your grace. Ser Jaime."

"Fuck you want?" He could hear the frown in the king's voice. 

Nevertheless, the door opened, a wary Barristan Selmy on the other side. 

Renly, Robert and Eddard Stark sat around the table.

"Merely to take what's mine," Jaime flashed a grin as he sauntered in. 

His moth was sitting on the open book in the middle of the table. 

"Yours?" 

"Yes," he said, as he reached to lift it gently. The moth fluttered his wings and the king shooed away Jaime's hand. 

"What do you mean it's yours?" 

"I found it a few days ago and it's been staying in my chambers since then."

"If I recall correctly, it found you, Ser Jaime," Ned Stark smiled quietly. 

"It's a good omen, you know," Renly said, sipping his wine gently. "It means the ocean is calm."

"Really?" Jaime hadn't known that. 

"Yes… they can't fly when the winds are too strong. So whenever they are around, it's a good time for a swim," the Lord of Storm's End smiled. "You didn't have any in the west?" 

"No. But it's much hotter there than in the Stormlands," Jaime said. 

"They're wild animals, Kingslayer. Not pets," the King snapped. When he was drunk he found it harder than usual to hide his loathing for his good brother. 

"Yes, your grace," he said as he lifted the moth and turned to leave. 

"No, stay. Have a drink, Jaime. I _insist_ ," Renly got up to pour him a cup and gestured to his vacated seat between the king and his Hand. 

Ever since they'd been stuck here, Renly had been running out of courtly gossip. He blindly siezed any opportunity to stir up trouble he could get. Jaime could respect him for that - if it wasn't as his expense. 

"What are you reading in the middle of the night?" He asked as he took a seat. 

"Some junk Renly had," Robert's mood had already soured and Jaime hadn't been around for more than five minutes. 

"'Tales from Tarth.' A gift from a _friend_ ," he smirked, secretively. 

"The Evenstar?" Ned asked.

"His daughter." 

"I've heard of her," Robert said. 

"As have I," Selmy added. "The Beauty she's called, isn't she?" 

"If you met her, you'd know why," Renly said, ugly smirk still in place. "Quite the experienced swordswoman, from what I hear." 

Jaime barked out a laugh. "Doubt she'd have any experience with _your_ sword, Prince Renly. Haven't known you to give ladies the honour." 

Robert narrowed his eyes as Renly passed Jaime a salacious grin. 

Jaime gave his best, nonchalant shrug which never failed to drive the king up the wall. Robert frowned, and scrambled out of his chair towards the window. 

"Well, she had her own sword. I don't see why she'd borrow Renly's," Ser Barristan said, brows furrowing.

Now, Jaime was lost. "Her own sword? Thought you said she was a girl." 

"She is," Selmy said. 

"Brienne wants to be a knight," Renly clarified. "In a few years, I reckon she'd give _you_ a run for your money, Jaime." 

"The wench is good?" 

"Brilliant. That's what I'll call her next time. Brienne the Brilliant. I've an eye on one of those special Tarthian sailboats. Speed like the winds, those do." 

"Can't you just buy one?" Jaime asked.

"Oh, where's the joy if it is bought? I'll earn mine. Pay the," he stroked his chin, "-pay the _silver_ price, I suppose," he said with a wink. _A silver stag for a night's shag,_ would've been Chataya's house words, they had japed with her once. 'Her arms would be a silver coin on a gold pillow,' Tyrion had added. 

Grinning, Jaime took the book in hand. The moth fluttered away a few inches. Ignoring the - _extremely uncalled for_ \- sense of hurt it caused, he began flipping through it. Mostly tales of local heroes, and the respective illustrations. Someone named Galladon featured in nearly every story. 

The handwriting was soft and flowing, each curve bending so gracefully, he could imagine the hand movement that made them. No Maester ever wrote with so much love.

Jaime couldn't help but feel a little envious. His own letters were clumsy and slow. And so very uneven. A single word had letters pointing every which way. If he wasn't too careful, he'd end up switching the alphabets or writing them in as mirror images. Even now after all the training from father. 

"Did she make this for you?" He asked.

"Bravo! I applaud you, Ser Jaime. You're the first to notice!" He smiled.

Awestruck, he traced his calloused fingers over the velvety page. Writing a book this size would take him years. 

"Brienne broke her leg riding some years ago. Was on a bedrest for - how long was it? About four moons or so. Made it then; penned down her favourites."

"It's beautiful," Jaime muttered. There was a particular illustration of a knight in blue armour riding uphill towards a golden light. In the background of the greenery, several luna moths flew about water lilies. They seemed to be a recurring theme, showing up resting on a maiden's braid, or a lily pad. Some flew around playing children, others perched on oars of docked boats…

By the time Jaime read the last line of the first story - The Golden Vow: true tale of Lord Balandor of Tarth and his Lady Jessamel - the sun was high in the sky. 

Stark and Selmy had probably long gone to bed.

Robert was passed out on the bed limbs splayed like a starfish. Renly knocked out across him, his face planted into the king's ample belly. 

The moth was asleep on the quill feather, its eyes closed, limbs all close together, wings spread. 

Careful, not to wake them or it, Jaime lifted the quill by the wrong end, palm supporting the soft bottom. 

On his way back, the lack of sleep was making itself known. He didn't even notice the banana peels by the pond till he nearly slipped on one. 

_Best get to bed. Before I break something_ , he thought or said aloud. He wasn't sure. He was sleepy. 

__________

**Sansa**

Arya's gift for Sandy turned out to be the single most useful thing in Westeros when it came to saving Sansa's hairbrushes. 

The pup was completely enamored with the bone shaped wooden toy. It was more convenient, not having any bristles get in the way, Sansa supposed. 

They had returned from town with a trunk full of supplies for canine care - tiny brushes for their teeth, the wools Sansa had asked for, some special gloves from Volantis which caught the loose hair before it shed, another few to remove the from her dresses and matching food and water bowls. There were even new tags for their collars, pink ribbons, one big puppy bed stuffed with goose feathers (she was saving it for when they'd travel to keep in the wagon). 

"Let's see if the glove works," she said, pulling it on. Terry didn't seem to even notice as she lifted him off the ground and onto her vanity, his stuffed carrot toy still in his mouth. 

Sansa gasped as the soft black hair that would've otherwise littered the whole Castle, come away safely on the blue fabric.

 _Just wait till I tell the Hound about this,_ she thought, gleefully. _He might even smile!_

"Think I saw Ser Jaime stumbling about by the gardens this morning," Tabitha giggled, as she folded a quilt. 

Jeyne snorted the water she was drinking out through the nose and started coughing. 

"Oh, dear!" Sansa rushed over to her friend and patted her back. 

"I'm fine, Sansa, thank you," Jeyne said, waving her off. 

Tabitha filled another glass with warm water and handed it to Jeyne. Then she gave Sansa hers with honey and lemon. 

"Ooh! What's this?" She sipped it carefully. 

Tabby smiled encouragingly, her gums flashing. 

"It's delicious, Tabby! Thank you," Sansa said, pleased to watch Tabby's expression brighten. "Someone's in good spirits today." 

"Who me?" The handmaiden smirked coyly. She went about the room dusting like a mad woman, not even tripping on the running pups, this time. 

"Mhmmm…" Sansa wiggled her brows, playing along. She switched a freshly groomed Terrance, with a dusty Florian. 

"Alright, I'll tell you, my lady," she squealed, dropping the feather duster with flair. "The haggle witch is coming!" 

Jeyne and Sansa exchanged a look over Arya's snoring form. 

"Who's the haggle witch?" 

"She's this fortuneteller who lives in the woods. Twice a year she comes to town. She'll tell you all about your future, past - everything! She just _knows._ Sometimes, she'll tell us legends of the old, from the time of the Children of the Forest and the Great Other."

"Oh! Like Old Nan!" Sansa clapped her hands. "I do miss her stories." 

Sansa put Florian down once he was done. _Now for the big task._ "Sandykins," she called gently, crouching and extending a hand towards him (at an acceptable distance, of course). It took some effort but between the three of them, they managed to get the puppy on the table. 

"I just hope I've saved enough to pay her. But that's the thing. She doesn't always ask for coin..."

"Really?" Jeyne asked, incredulous. That one was always all ears when it came to matters of money. 

"Really."

"What does she ask for then?" Sansa asked. Arya began to stir, rubbing her eyes. The girls took care to lower their voices. 

"Anything she fancies. A song, a dream, food," Tabby thought for a second, "socks!" 

"Socks?" 

"She asked me for socks last time. I had to give her my own pair," the girl pointed to her feet. 

Sansa wrinkled her nose slightly, laughing. She wouldn't be caught dead touching another person's socks. 

"Better than what she asked old Wick though. She made him wear a dress and walk around the street for a half hour."

"What? Truly? Or are you pulling our leg?" Sansa gaped. 

"No, honest!" Tabby raised a palm and pinched her throat in a way that would make Septa Mordane faint. "I swear on the Old Gods! It was punishment for always leering at all the maids, the haggle witch said."

Arya chuckled, still mostly asleep. "Nooo, that's _my dress_ … no I'm not a witch…" she muttered, turning in her sleep. 

"What sort of stories does she tell? Scary ones? True ones? Does she really know everything? Even about oceans?" Jeyne asked, bouncing in her seat at the edge of the bed. 

"Oh all sorts! My favourite ones are the ones about the mated pairs," she let out a wistful sigh.

Sansa just knew this was going to be good. Jeyne and her exchanged another look. "Tell us _everything_ ," they said, definitively.

"The haggle witch doesn't say much. She only tells what she wants to tell," Tabby said, uncertainly.

The other two girls didn't drop their expectant expressions for a second. 

"Well it's said that every person has a soulmate. Someone who understands them completely, who'll love them no matter what. Their souls are mated for life in the eyes of the Old Gods. 

It was a gift to people as the gods were happy about the harmony between the Children of the Forest and the First Men."

"How did you know someone was your mated pair?" 

"Well, there were signs. Far south in Dorne and far West where it was warm, they had matching marks on their skins. 

That didn't work in most places though. There they had messengers. A being that would help bring the pair together."

"A being? Like a fairy? Or a spirit?" Sansa asked. 

Tabitha shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. She didn't say. Only that the being would spring to life from something they each cared for."

"And these soulmates - what if you didn't like yours?" Jeyne asked. 

"That was the thing. No one liked theirs when they first met them. But the haggle witch said: a soulmate isn't one who matches you perfectly, but one who brings you what you are wanting. 

They each have something the other needs and only when they share that, do they find complete happiness." 

"Do you have one?" Sansa and Jeyne said together. 

"Seven hells! I'm trying to sleep," Arya grumbled, squashing a pillow over her head. 

"Sorry," the girls muttered, not taking their eyes off Tabitha for a second. 

"Well…" she tugged at her apron, lashes lowered. "I don't think so. I hope I do… but... after the Andals came, and destroyed all the Godswoods… the magic of the old gods dimmed... the people turned to the Seven. 

I follow the old gods because my great-grandmother did. She was Lady Lya Darry's handmaiden," Tabitha got up with a start and shuffled about as if physically shaking off the thoughts. "Anyway, it's said wildlings still have soulmates. As do some islands in Sothoryos, but I don't know for sure." 

"Did Lady Lya keep the Old Gods?" Jeyne asked, helping Tabby fold another giant quilt. 

"She did. My grandfather works at the smithy here; he grew up working in Darry. He told me Lady Lya dug the pond herself. She sorely missed the one at home - somewhere North. Wouldn't let nobody near it. 

There's this myth that the pond is bottomless. 

Every few months someone decides to take a swim and find its bed, but so far no one has been able to."

"I will!" Arya declared, standing on the bed, and jamming her thumb into her chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🐕🐕🐕  
> All the puppies in the next one!  
> ❤️❤️❤️


	7. Chapter 7

The Hound - Sansa had begun to think - had no sense of romance at all. 

She had been completely moved by the idea of soulmates and had told him all about it the first chance she got - and what had he done? 

Laughed at it. 

Not a hollow, bitter laugh either, a full on belly laugh, with tears in his flashy, silver eyes. 

And when he caught her glaring at him, he laughed some more.

Sansa folded her arms and turned from him. She stood in the yard waiting for her family to hurry up so they could leave already. _Deep breaths_ , she told herself. _Patience and deep breaths. A true lady must be poised and patient, above all._ Notice the sun, the white clouds. Hear the birds. 

Oh _, this isn't working at all!_ She imagined dragging Jeyne and Arya out by their arms. She would have, if it weren't horribly unladylike. 

"They're taking too long," she said, pacing around, trying to release some of that pent up energy. 

"Seven hells, you really bought the whole soulmate shit, didn't you?" The Hound ran his fingers through his horse's mane. _Stranger._ A big, black courser with a foul temper. 

_An apt and aptly named albeit troublesome companion_ , she mused. 

Stranger had almost bit the footman who attempted to gather his reigns and then kicked the wheel barrow with gardening tools in it just because. He'd flared his nostrils and reared up when Sansa went to touch him. Sandor had told her to keep her distance. 

"Well, it is beautiful! And _miraculous_ ! Imagine the Gods - the _Gods_ \- chose your mate for you. It would be wonderful," she said, wistfully, hands joining themselves to clasp under her chin. 

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Besides, I wouldn't touch anything - or anyone - the _Gods_ chose for me with a ten foot lance."

Sansa huffed. "Fine. I shan't tell you about the legends anymore."

"Thank fuck," he muttered. 

She gave him the sideways evil eye but he was smirking - just the unscarred side. 

"Here love," she murmured to Flo as he sniffed at their surroundings. The others played with an old ball they found by the kennels. She held him against her chest while he tucked his head under her chin and relaxed. 

Everywhere she looked, she could imagine walking there with Lady. She'd avoided spending much time in the yard for this very reason. It couldn't be avoided now though, so she just focused on being patient and turned her attention elsewhere. 

Sandor wore a red tunic with a small dog's head sewn on it today, Sansa noted. Same maroon boots he always wore with grey breeches and a deep grey cloak. He usually rotated between the same few garments, but the tunic was new. Plain, if a little garish, but new. 

Sansa always felt overdressed around him in her fancy dresses and ribbons and jewels. Today, she wore a pink gown, which had delicate yellow embroidery all over the fabric. It was one of her finer dresses but she felt it fit the occasion. She even had her hair done up in an elaborate updo with lots of loose braids. And her favourite rose gold pins. Each had a tiny ruby bird on it. A gift from mother before Sansa had left Winterfell. 

_It would be hard to make a good impression on a woodswitch with drab clothing, after all,_ she had to explain to her sister this morning. 

"Let's go!" Arya ordered, as she made her way down the yard - alone, Sansa saw with dismay. 

It had been surprisingly easy to convince their father to go to town. Almost like he welcomed the change of scenery. But then the king decided he wanted to join too. And thus, their trip was delayed. 

"Took you long enough! Where are the others?" Sansa said, mentally checking off things she was meant to bring - father was responsible for the money, so that left her to guess the witch's whimsy. Food, scarves, socks, and some of the smaller crystals from her collection seemed like smart options. 

Arya chuckled. "Someone's in a hurry. Those things are just stories, Sansa. You don't _really_ think she'll help find your soulmate?" She said. Her brown breeches already had palm prints on it. 

Sansa took a few more deep breaths to calm herself. She cleared her throat. "It is possible." _It was._ "The Old Gods are powerful and we worship them at Winterfell." _They did._ "Maybe they'll see it fit to give me a soulmate." 

"And what about Joffrey?" Arya's face twisted as if she bit into an entire lemon. 

"Well… I'm hoping if I am to marry him," Sansa paused. "That he is my soulmate." 

The Hound froze. Just for a second. He didn't turn but his hand stilled against the horse's neck. It was enough for her to notice. 

"You are? Truly?" Arya raised a brow as she bent to scratch her calves. She pulled her breeches upto her knee and everything. Right there. In the yard. "Even after -" 

"Yes." Sansa wasn't sure which incident in particular Arya was referencing but none of them were something she cared to remember. ' _What is done is done_ ' mother always said. 

Anyways, had Arya even _seen_ the Prince lately? With his golden curls - they were longer now and framed his face beautifully. His shining eyes green like the canopy of pine forests. Even his jaw was becoming stronger. He was taller too. 

Sansa sighed. 

"You went all out for this, didn't you?" Arya asked, after a time, looking over Sansa.

"You think it's too much?" Thankful for the change in subject, Sansa considered her attire. Her hands reached up to the elaborate hairstyle. 

Arya snorted, "no, it's no-"

"Oh, it is! Wait, I'll just change and be back in a second-" she said, suddenly unsure of it. 

" _No_!" Sandor and Arya shouted in unison. 

"You look fine, little bird. Best get on now," he said, almost dragging her towards her mare. Then Hound barked at the footman to fetch the pup's basket. He scampered away at once. 

She had to keep Florian down - who glared at Sandor for making her. 

The Hound held her at the waist and lifted her without warning. She grabbed the fabric over his shoulders. "There you go," he said, placing her in the saddle. 

Suddenly shy, she smiled down at him. She had never realised exactly how tall he was. Even on horseback, she was only a few inches higher than him. 

While he took a round around the horse checking all the buckles and straps, the footman returned with the basket. 

The pups, for once, sat still, poking their heads out of the basket looking around curiously. 

She lit up at the sight. 

Sandor's mouth twitched - on the burnt side. 

"What's wrong?" Sansa asked, holding her hands out to take the basket. 

"I don't think you can carry them downhill. What if they fall off? Or you do?" 

"I'll be careful, my-" 

_Clang!_

Something crashed loudly in the distance and all eyes in the yard turned to the entrance of the main hall. 

"He will damn well go, woman! Joffrey is _my_ son too!" King Robert thundered down the yard. 

The king and queen appeared, playing tug of war with Joffrey. Cersei had her arms wrapped around the prince's shoulders while the King held his forearm and dragged him out. 

"Absolutely NOT!" The Queen shrieked, following him down the warpath. 

Usually whenever they fought, it was the queen who held her tongue and maintained the decorum but today… she was _livid_. Hair frazzled, laces coming undone, the bottom of her skirts muddied from the puddles she was stepping in without thought. 

"He's not going to see some haggard witch! I don't care what you say!" 

"How _dare_ you? You defy me? You are nothing but a whore!" 

"My father will hear about this, Robert. Just you wait and watc-"

"Don't you threaten me. I AM YOUR KING! Gods damn you!"

The prince was caught in the middle, his eyes wide and lips trembling. He struggled fruitlessly to free himself but that only made the Queen tighten her grip and in turn the King.

"I don't care _what_ you are. If you put my son's life in danger, I will _kill_ you," she seethed, every word burning up her green eyes. 

Ser Barristan tried to cut in several times, "your graces, the prince-" "please my king, let me-" "my queen…" 

She ignored him while the King elbowed him out of the way. Joffrey kept throwing Ser Barristan helpless looks. 

Everyone else in the yard froze. 

Ned ran out of the main hall followed closely by Ser Jaime and Jory. 

The rest of the men from the King's party turned away but moved around forming a semi circle around the pair. It seemed as though this scene had played out enough times for everyone to learn their role. 

The Hound set the pups down and gripped his sword, the twitching worse than ever. Terry jumped out of the basket and immediately darted towards Joffrey.

With all his might, he began tugging at the Prince's hem, dodging the king's and queen's frantic movements. 

"Seven hells, get it off me!" Joffrey cursed as he awkwardly tried to free his leg.

Sansa was stuck on the horse but Arya jumped off hers. She managed to pull the pup away from Joffrey, earning a rogue whack from the king on her head. 

" _Robert,_ " Ned called, pushing Jaime out of the way. "Please-"

"You will kill me?! _You? Filthy_ slut-" 

"Yes, me! _Me_ , you fat bastard. If anything, and I mean anything happens to my son, I will gut you ali-" 

King Robert lost his bearings. He charged forward to grab the queen. Joffrey howled in pain as his father accidentally stepped on his foot. 

The Queen began crying, as she stumbled backwards pulling Joffrey with her. "Clegane! _CLEGANE_!" she screamed, like her life depended on it. 

Sandor was already halfway to her.

"Take Joffrey! Take him inside!" She shrieked, tears flowing down her face. 

The King opened his mouth as if to scream and his hand swung back. 

But the Hound was between them, his back to the king.

"Come, your grace," Sandor said to Joffrey the same time as the King brought his hand down. He caught the Hound at the side of his neck. The slap echoed throughout the yard. 

Stepping back, Robert looked around as if broken from a trance. 

Ser Jaime rushed forward, white cloak flapping behind and stood in front of the Queen who was sobbing into her brother's shoulder. "Don't let him take Joff to that witch, Jaime please," she was mumbling. "Please _don't_ … my son." 

The king fumed frantically stomping around the yard. He threw an empty wine barrel against the castle wall. It shattered sending splinters everywhere. He cursed at the Queen while she hurled venomous insults back. 

Ser Jaime tried to calm her down, his palms up in surrender, while Ned tried to pry the King back into the castle. 

The King kept pushing him away, both of them caught in a painful dance. 

Ser Jaime turned and grabbed the Queen by her waist, pulling her away as she lost her temper and began screaming at the King again. 

"Ah! It's good to be back," came a clear voice from the portcullis. "What'd I tell you, Penny? Just like home," Lord Tyrion said, waddling in, followed by the most peculiar party Sansa had ever seen. "Smells slightly better here though."

_________

**Eddard**

Ned wanted to go lie down after one long, _long_ morning but there were more pressing matters. So far his trip south had been nothing but one long headache. 

As the newcomers lined up before him, he could hear Robert arguing with his Kingsguard. 

"Please have a seat," he gestured towards the chairs. Tyrion sat first, not letting go of the dwarf girl's hand. His new sellsword waited behind him. 

Theon took the other chair. 

Cleos Frey and his family had gone to meet his goodparents leaving his young cousin at the Hand's solar with the rest of the party. 

Tyrion was the first to break the silence. "Allow me to make the introductions. Lord Stark - Bronn and Penny. 

Bronn and Penny, Lord Stark."

Penny stood by Tyrion, shorter than him. Looking up at Ned with big doe eyes, she curtsied clumsily. 

"I'm Merry," the bushy haired little girl skipped up to shake Ned's hand. He obliged and she beamed. 

"Good afternoon," he responded curtly. 

"I'm here with my Cousin Cleos," she continued in the same breath. "His wife is a Darry, you know? I mean was. Now she's a Frey. There's soooo many Freys, Lord Stark. Are there very many Starks? Theon told me but I forget names sometimes. I know there's Robb and Sansa and Rickon… there's two or three more and all of their wolves… but I'm afraid I don't remember all their names." She went quiet for a split second rocking back and forth on her heels. 

" _Anyway_ , I've always wanted to visit other places all my life! I've never left the Twins before. So I asked it for my nameday present - it's in a few months. And cousin Cleos was already comi-" 

"Alright, Merrianne, thank you," Tyrion said, patting her shoulder. He turned to Ned, "The kingsroad was not safe to travel on so we crossed the Neck at Greywater Watch-" Tyrion squeezed Penny's hand and she blushed madly, collapsing in a fit of giggles. The sellsword rolled his eyes. 

"- and made a stop at the Twins. Also picked up a few _friends_ along the way." 

"Of course," Ned said, wishing again that he'd never left Winterfell. 

After a while, Penny cleared her throat a little and nudged Tyrion. They whispered amongst themselves.

"Oh, and this is Scruffy," Tyrion pointed to the frankly squashed looking little animal at her feet. It's tawny and black fur stuck out in random patches around his face, out of which peered green and black mismatched eyes. His tail, though, was much too long to suit his body. 

"Penny is afraid they'll toss him out, so he's following us around." 

Once everyone was seated, Tyrion called for refreshments and chicken broth for the animal (an elderly, misshapen cat, was his best guess). Merry knelt feeding it pieces of bread with the broth. 

"Explain," finally the Hand turned to Theon, who had been suspiciously cooperative the whole morning. 

"Well… not much to it, Lord Stark. I think Lady Catelyn got quite sick of me," Theon smiled, his signature infuriating grin already beginning to get on Ned's nerves. "There was a _mishap_ with some hair colour, as you can see." 

Ned could. Theon's hair was white as snow, making his olive eyes and tan skin stand out even more. It had been only about a month and half since he'd last seen the boy, but he seemed much older. 

"She feared I was being a _bad influence_ on Robb, I'm afraid-" 

"I can't imagine why," the Imp drolled.

"- _so_ when Lord Tyrion stopped by Winterfell after his trip to the Wall, she said I could go with him," Theon popped a cherry in his mouth, the stem sticking out between his teeth. 

"I had no part in this planning," Tyrion said, one hand held up in mock surrender, the other holding up his wine. Penny sipped hers delicately, alternating between swinging her leg and stilling it - like it was a nervous habit. 

"What mishap?" Ned said, pinching his nose with his thumb and forefinger. 

"Well… this," Theon tapped his head, "was supposed to be red. Deep red not Tully red, but the vendor gave me the wrong colour."

"Did Robb do this too?" 

"Oh, no don't worry. Just a streak down the side. It would've looked good if it were the colour I chose, my lord. But as it stands… he can't really pull off white as well as me." 

"And Catelyn, she sent you away because of a hair colouring incident?" Ned narrowed his eyes, his lips settling into one prim line. 

"Well it wasn't so much the hair colouring as who was doing it and where," Tyrion said. 

Theon's ears turned pink, his eyes darting down and staying put, like it was the most interesting floor he had ever seen.

Ned already had an inkling where this was going. "And where was this?" He had to ask. Making presumptions wouldn't help in the slightest. 

Tyrion turned to Theon too but the boy gave no answer. 

"I fear it was some of the more disreputable places in Winter Town," the Imp said, taking pity on Ned's ward. "Now, now Lord Stark, let us get out of your way before you pull little Theon over your knee. Come Penny," he finished his wine in one long gulp and hopped off the chair. He helped Penny down and kissed her hand as they both waddled towards the door. 

"You may go with them too, child," Ned told the girl. 

"Alright, thank you, Lord Stark," Merry jumped and was almost out the door when she turned around with a spin. "I don't get it. Where did Theon get his hair coloured, Lord Stark?"

" _Merry_!" Tyrion called. The girl ran off with a squeak. 

Ned sighed. And poured himself a goblet of ale. Briefly, he considered ordering something stronger for later. 

"How is Bran? Is he well?" Ned took a seat by Theon. It had broken his heart, to leave Bran still unconscious after that nasty bout of Greywater fever. Honor had compelled him to put aside his love. He had prayed to the Old Gods every day for his sons, Bran and Jon in particular.

"All good. No fever for a week now, he's walking around, even insists on riding the horse but so far lady Catelyn hasn't allowed it," Theon said. Then opened and shut his mouth. 

"Tell me." 

Theon cleared his throat and adjusted his blue doublet, "Bran has been _seeing_ things… of late. He says he can…" Theon trailed off, looking around the room, wiping his palms on his lap. 

"He can what? See what, Theon?" Ned was almost off his chair, dread settling on his chest. 

"N-nothing to worry about, Lord Stark. It's nothing bad, Old Nan said so."

"Nan?"

"Yes. She says Bran is a warg. It means he can-" 

"I know what a warg is," Ned snapped. He paced about the room, resisting the temptation to grab his horse and haul his arse back to Winterfell. 

"Yes. Of course. Uh- umm - yes, so when he woke up he spoke of flying and some such. At first Maester Luwin thought it was just fever dreams but Bran saw you. He says he saw Sansa cry for Lady… "

"Lady?" Ned halted in his tracks. He hadn't written home about it...

"Yes. He knew 'bout it before the men you sent reached Winterfell. He also saw her walk this huge dog or was it three? I can't remember."

"A skinchanger…" Ned still couldn't believe it. 

"It's a good thing, Lord Stark. Bran will strengthen the magic of the Old Gods, and bless the North and those beyond the Wall. Old Nan said so. He's chosen by the Gods themselves."

Going forward, this could cause any number of problems… Southerners didn't take well to the Old Gods. The faces in the weirwood had become a symbol of savage customs and wildling weddings. They were no longer looked to for guidance as they should have. 

And the High Septon. Even Mordane…

Before he could worry further, Sansa's pups bounded in the room. A hurricane of joy, barking and jumping. 

Their tails wagged ferociously as they nuzzled against Theon's calves - even the angry one. The young man's jaw fell open.

"By the Drowned God… he was right," Theon murmured. 

He laughed, incredulous, as he bent to pet the pups. 

Now wasn't the time though. "Sansa!" Ned called. "Sansa get your dogs! I have work-" he froze as something warm and wet touched his ankle. A pup looked up with watery eyes, it was the sleepy one, but he couldn't be sure. 

Crouching, he rubbed it's head. "And which one are you?" The others left Theon and crowded around Ned. 

"M'lord," two guards rushed in the room and froze at the doorstep. "M'lord you called?" 

"Yes. Where's my daughter? And why are the dogs running around?" 

"They were locked in her chambers above, m'lord. Lady Sansa has gone to visit Prince Joffrey. He hurt his leg this morning when the King-" the guard held his tongue as the other nudged him in the ribs. 

_When the King stepped on him. Say it._ Ned wanted to say. 

"Sansa's got new dogs already? If they were locked, why are they here?" Theon demanded. "Give the word and I'll take them to the kennels, my lord."

"No," Ned said. "No… Just let them be. You too, Theon. Go on, rest. I imagine you had a long journey."

With a nod, Theon got up to leave. 

"Wait," Ned said. 

"Hmm?" 

"G-good to see you, son," Ned pat Theon on the back. His eyes widened before he smiled - truly smiled. 

"Good to see you too, Lord Stark." 

Both of them stood around, unsure what to say next. Father - son conversations weren't easy or numerous between them. Not for lack of want though.

"I'd best get settled in," Theon said finally. Ned nodded and turned to his desk. 

_I'll retire too. Letters to the capital can wait a few hours._ He locked the dogs in the solar as he headed for his chambers. They were Clegane's problem now. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Sansa**

By the time she left the Prince's chambers, the castle had been put back in order. All the statues and decorations the King had toppled over had been restored, floor swept and curtains rearranged.

When she reached her tower, the guards informed her that the pups were in the solar. Confused, she racked her brains for an explanation. _I certainly locked them in,_ she recalled. _And told everyone not to open the door till I'm back. Hopefully they didn't cause any trouble._

Through the torchlit corridor she made her way to her chambers first and grabbed leashes hanging behind the door. It would be time for a walk soon. 

Cooing at the pups, she entered the solar. 

Flo and Sandy barked happily as they ran to her, Terrance in tow. They left a trail of black paw prints behind them, all over the bronze coloured carpet. Same marks covered the entire room, the tea table, some of the cushions, the window sill and even the doors where someone had definitely pawed at it. 

On the desk, father's inkwell was toppled over. Expensive ink dripped all down the giant, ancient, desk. 

She gasped, fluttering about assessing the damage. Father would be furious. And he was never furious. Not at her. At Arya and Robb and definitely Theon, but… not at  _ Sansa.  _ She was supposed to be the good one. Obedient. Poised. "How did you even get up there? How'd you even get out of my chamber?" 

The pups paid her no attention. Wrestling each other to the ground, falling and running. It was hard to remain angry at them when they made those eyes at her that only puppies and kittens could manage. 

Eventually they made their way back to the usual spot by the fireplace. Sandy whined at the empty place usually occupied by the Hound. He'd gotten quite fond of his - almost - namesake. 

"He'll be here in a minute," she said. "The Queen wanted a word with him."  _ Can he be here sooner? We need to get this in order before father wakes from his nap! _

After she cleaned the pup's paws, she brought out her knitting, her project was almost done.  __

It was almost an hour later that the pups stirred from their half-sleep. They got up rushing to the door. 

"Oh, good," Sansa smiled. "He's here." 

"Fuck your 'Sers,' Cassel," came the Hound's rumble. "Where are the damn dogs?" 

He sounded angrier than usual. 

Instantly on edge, Sansa hurried to put away her needles and yarn, and ready the leashes again. 

The door swung open so hard it banged against the wall. She jumped, startled. 

The pups, undeterred, ran to him as he loomed in the doorway, like a rain cloud. 

"Good evening, my lord," she said, turning to get a rag and help with the mess before he could get angrier. 

It didn't work. 

"What the  _ fuck _ is this?" She didn't have to turn to know he'd be waving his hand before him at the blackened floor. "You couldn't keep them in your room for one hour? One hour?" 

_ I should've cleaned up before he got here,  _ she fretted. 

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Her mouth had gone dry. All the rags were either too big or too small for this task. Erring on the side of too big, she grabbed a cloth and turned. 

And slammed right into him. 

"Fuck's sake," he cursed, grabbing her arms before she stumbled back. "I'll do that. My  _ job _ isn't it?" He said it as if it were a curse. "Go on, little bird. Go sit in your little nest. Let the dog do all the dirty work." 

Snatching the cloth, he began at one end, recklessly tossing about furniture to sweep under it where the ink seeped in. Sansa winced at the sound. 

The pups were still close. He swatted them away. Yelled and snapped, but they followed him just the same. Meanwhile, she sat still on the chair, hands folded in her lap, eyes on the ground. All her attempts to help had been rendered futile by the pups and subsequently bashed by the Hound.

"Done," he barked, immediately followed by the crash of the mop falling over in the broomshed. 

Nodding she got up to get the dogs, tugging at Aleksander while he resisted as usual. 

Sandor leashed the other two by then. 

"Here," he snapped his fingers. 

"Yes, my lord," she squeaked. Handing him the leash, she backed away as though he'd burnt her. 

He slumped, as if some great weight crashed down on him. 

"You must be tired, my lord," she said, hesitantly. "I can take them for a walk by myself." 

He turned to look at her. Sansa's gaze was elsewhere but she could tell he moved.

"The dog barks some and the little bird can't even look at him now? Is that it?" 

She shook her head vehemently, still unable to meet his eyes. Iron eyes which were no doubt glaring down at her. 

He crouched before her. Grabbing her jaw in one hand, he tilted it up. 

A muffled gasp escaped her. 

"I think it is." 

She forgot how to breathe for a second, heart still pounding. Her nails dug in her palms as she recoiled inwards.

His grip loosened a fraction and she attempted to back away. 

Another steel hand grasped her, while the first pulled her in even further. 

"Look at me. _ Look _ . At. Me." 

Trembling in his arms, she obeyed. Lashes fluttering. She took in the scars and the twitching with no difficulty. The eyes however were another matter. 

"Y-yes, my lord," she whispered when he didn't say anything, just dropped his head forward. 

"The Queen… woman's gone mad over this witch business," he said, arms releasing her. A chill crept up in her, at his words and the loss of his warmth. "She sent a letter to the Rock. Saying the King threatened to have her whipped, or killed or - hells," he exhaled, running a hand down his unscarred side. "Lord Tywin's not one to take this lightly." 

"The Queen's father?" Was all she could reply. 

"Aye. There was talk already of the King and the Tyrell girl. Setting Cersei aside… Put Lord Lannister on edge. Won't happen, of course," he let out a bitter chuckle. "Not while he lives."

He fell silent for a while. His elbows resting on knees, head drooped as they were the same height for once. 

"He'll pay the king a visit. Bring Gregor." 

"W-who? My lor--" 

"My brother." 

"I didn't know you had a brother. Is he older or younger than you?" For a second she was relieved to find a way to start a normal conversation.

His mouth started twitching horribly. Sansa looked down.  _ That was clearly the wrong question to ask. _

He lowered down on the floor, pulling her too so they sat side by side.

The pups swept in like a furry wave, instantly covering them both. 

The Hound grunted as they jumped up on him, Flo tried to lick his face and Terry bit his cloak fastenings. Sandy nuzzled up to him, placed his front paws on his stomach and rested his face on them. 

Once the initial surprise had passed, he began petting them gently.

They wagged their tails, yelping agreeably. 

He squeezed his eyes shut. 

The scars twisted into a grimace as his brow furrowed. 

"You asked about my brother," he said at last. Goosebumps ran up Sansa's arms, at the coldness in his voice. 

"He's older than me. Five years."

She nodded, and shifted backwards, freeing herself from his grip. She took up her knitting, glad he was talking at least. 

"Put that down," he ordered, his voice steel and stone. 

Sansa hesitated for a moment, taken aback by yet another mood change. "I said put it  _ down. _ " 

She did and folded her hands in her lap. Looking at them, she waited for him to continue. 

"Look at me." 

Her heart was going mad, but she did as she was told. He had her pinned with his stare. Again, she struggled to not avert her eyes. 

"Sight for sore eyes, ain't it?" He huffed a dry laugh. "Everyone thinks it was a battle or seige. One fool asked if I fought a dragon… No," his rasped. "No, it was my brother. He's a big man, you'll see soon enough. Largest and strongest in all the realm," he barked out a bitter laugh. "When I was seven, there was this wood carver who came by our town. He sent us gifts for Warrior's Night. I don't remember what I got but it was Gregor's toy I wanted. A wooden knight with his own sword and shield. The joints bent and fixed with strings so you could make him fight. Gregor barely looked at it. Threw it away almost instantly. 

So I took it.

"I wasn't stealing it… I was only playing with it. There was no joy to it though, I was scared the whole time. And sure enough, he found me. There was a brazier in the room," Sandor grit his teeth, his eyes turned away from hers to stare into the fireplace. 

"He picked me up and shoved my face into the coals. And he held me there. As I screamed," his hands balled into fists by his side. The dogs scrambled closer to him. 

"It took three men to drag him off me. My father told everyone my bedding caught fire. Few weeks later, father got me another toy knight," let out a dry laugh. "He got one, too. Five years later Rhaegar Targaryen tapped my brother on the shoulder with his sword and said 'arise Ser Gregor.'" 

His breath came out in a shudder.

Sansa's was caught in her throat. Tears streaming down her face, she took his hand in both of hers. Dark against light, sand against silk, hurt against comfort.

How could she make him understand? Sansa hoped the tenderness, care, and yes, even fear, she felt for him could flow from her veins to his. "He is no true knight," she at last. 

His hand trembled for a second before he threw back his head and laughed. "No. No, little bird, he is no true knight." 

His laugh boomed through the solar. So loud, she half expected guards to come barreling into the room but they didn't.

Hours seemed to pass before either of them moved, though truthfully it couldn't have been more than a few minutes. Each moment she spent with his hand in hers, was a moment treasured - precious, locked, and hidden. She understood the impropriety of her stance but she couldn't bring herself to pull away. 

Eventually, the sound of footsteps got louder. As if jolted from a trance, he whisked his hand away. 

She shifted back too, not quite returning to her old place. And took up her needles again. This time he didn't stop her. 

Jeyne entered the solar, her nose buried in the large book she held and curled up on one of the settee by the windows. Removing her slippers, she sat cross legged on the cushion. Her pale teal skirt fanned out all around her and dark brown hair shone like dark quartz crystals. So engrossed was she, Jeyne didn't notice the room was occupied. 

Sansa cleared her throat delicately.

"Good afternoon, Jeyne," she said. No answer. 

Sansa exchanged a perplexed look with the Hound. "Good afternoon, Jeyne," she said, louder this time. The girl didn't even blink. 

"Hey, squid girl!" Sandor called. 

Jeyne jumped in her seat, startled. "Oh! My pardons, ser, Sansa… I didn't see you there." 

"He's not a knight," Sansa felt compelled to distinguish. Jeyne arched a brow. 

"What are you reading?" She asked. Jeyne was getting too perceptive by half. 

"More of those prissy love stories, I reckon," the Hound grumbled. 

"Oh no, this is Maester Allegorn's Creatures of the Deep. It's quite a fascinating book," she said, impatiently. 

"Well, we'd best let you get back to it then," Sansa said. "Happy reading." 

Jeyne was already lost in the book.

"She's not usually like that," Sansa shook her head. Something told her he had his doubts. 

The pups were more active now, though didn't stray more than two feet from him. 

The patter of raindrops on the window sill became stronger.

"No walk for you lot now. T'is raining again" Sandor rubbed Terry's belly as he rolled around. "What's with you now?" He asked, watching as Sansa's hands moved with speed. 

"I'm almost done. Can't wait to see how they'll look," she replied. 

"Any faster and those needles will catch fire," he chuckled. "What have you been making?" 

Sansa held her tongue till it was done. With verve, she pulled the final stitch, grinning ear to ear. Putting away the needles and yarn she straightened up. Proud and eager. 

He noticed and followed suit. "Time for a grand reveal?" 

Triumphant, she held up the tiny, lemon yellow sweater. It had come together perfectly. Although, it would be a little large on the pups now. But that had been a calculated decision. 

His eyes softened immediately as he took it in. "Lucky brats," he said, the corner of his mouth lifted.

"I made three matching ones." Unfolding the soft fabric, she placed them side by side on her lap. "You hold them up and I'll put it on." 

Florian went first, as had become custom by now. Every new thing was to be tried with him first in order to cause the least damage to both person and property. 

"No hold him properly-" Sansa moved Sandor's thumbs so they wouldn't get in her way. The sweaters were to be buttoned at the belly but his giant fingers engulfed the tiny pups so much, they kept her from even putting the sleeves through properly. 

"I am. I'm doing exactly what you sai- hey, no biting! Florian no-"

After a few more minutes of struggling, she had to concede, "your hands are too big for this. Wait, I'll hold him and you put the sweater on." 

He nodded and handed her the pup. She shifted towards him, turning so Flo was before the two of them. 

Gingerly, he lifted a front paw and pulled the sleeve over it.

It still surprised her how gentle he could be when he wanted to. 

Sansa turned Florian so he could do the same on the other side. The pup tossed around, whimpering. 

"Almost done. Almost done, love," she said. "My, my how handsome are you going to look?" He calmed, hanging on to every word. 

"It's like a little baby," said someone standing over them. 

Sandor and Sansa startled at the sudden interruption.

"Oh, it's you. Good evening, Theon," she sighed. Even though she'd met him earlier in the day, the white hair needed some getting used to. It made him look more iron born somehow. Sansa couldn't pinpoint it but she supposed it had something to do with how much darker it made his skin look. Like he lived by the ocean and sailed and reaved - instead of huddling up in Winterfell, pale as the moon like the rest of the Northerners. Though she supposed he'd always been darker than them for as long as she could remember. 

"Evening. What are you doing?" Theon smiled, his olive eyes mocking yet light. 

"I made them sweaters," she said. 

"They're cute but I'm not sure they deserve sweaters. Pissed off Lord Stark real good this afternoon."

Sansa's eyes went wide. "Oh! Is that why they were in the solar? I don't know how they got out. I locked the door. I  _ did _ . Is father angry?" She was almost afraid to ask. 

"Not as much with you as with me," he said, laughing. 

"Why aren't you with the Prince?" Theon turned to the Hound. 

"None of your damn business," the Hound barked. 

"Ooh, someone's touchy," Theon smirked, bending to pet Terrance who was sniffing him. 

The Hound threw him another characteristic glare. 

"Their names?" Theon said, folding up the sleeves of his deep teal tunic. He wore it half unlaced and tucked in his black breeches, the colours vivid against his golden tan. 

"Nosy, Grouch and Piss canon," the Hound said, taking the change in subject for the peace offering it was. "At least that's what they should be." 

Sansa glared at him, but her poorly suppressed smile somewhat ruined the effect. 

"They're Florian, Terrance and Aleksander," she said pointedly, gesturing to each. 

Theon chuckled, "now I need to know which one's Piss canon?"

Sandor pointed to the pup in question. The sleeves had unrolled a little and we're covering Florian's paws. He lifted each leg fully walking around in circles, trying to find them. Wiggling his foreleg before him, he whined at Sansa. 

"Oh. Come here, sweetling. I'll help you," she smiled, pulling him in her lap. Gently she folded the sleeves again. "You're growing so fast, I was afraid if I made them to fit you perfectly now, you'd outgrow them by tomorrow." 

"What's with Jeyne?" Theon's gaze had settled on the girl by the window. 

"Reading. She is very interested in books these days," Sansa said. 

"It's not books she should be interested in right now," Theon winked and sauntered over to Jeyne. 

Sansa giggled. For a moment it was like they were in Winterfell again, with Theon's teasing and the wolf pups running around. She regretted ever wanting to leave home now that she was so far from it. 

"What's wrong?" A strong hand held her forearm. 

"Oh!" 

He let her go just as soon he'd held her. 

"Nothing, my lord. I just… miss home," she said. "And mother and my brothers-" she paused, suddenly guilty about mentioning brothers at all.

"They're good lads," he said, apparently noticing her discomfort. "The elder ones are way too full of themselves- 

Her mouth opened in mock offence. He grinned. 

"-but they're good lads." 

Moving onto Terrance next, they retook their positions. Dressing him was slightly easier since he tolerated Sandor much better than Florian. Though he twisted and rolled a lot more. 

Sansa and Sandor took a moment to ready themselves before reaching out for the last pup. "Ready?" She asked him. 

"We'll find out," he said, lifting Sandy who started barking immediately. It went on for a while, even after they set him down.

"Seven hells, stop torturing him," Arya said, as she entered - a mud covered, breeches-clad angel with a wooden bone in hand. "Here Sandy," she said, giving him the bone. The pup went to town immediately, running off to the desk. 

"Thank you," Sansa sighed. "You're a savior of ears everywhere." 

Arya snorted, "you should've been prepared." 

There was a distant rumble of voices by the door. "Is this room occupied?" Ser Jaime poked his head in. "Oh, bugger it," he said, before anyone could reply. 

He walked briskly - the moth resting on his golden head - towards the desk. Grabbing the heavy chair, he dragged it with him to the far corner of the room lined by bookshelves. It scraped loudly against the floor. 

Sandy growled through his bone as he fled his spot, running straight to Sansa's lap. 

Ser Jaime seated himself. He tugged at cushions and readjusted to get into a comfortable position. Taking out the large book  _ he _ was unsuccessfully hiding under his cloak, he flipped it open. Then he changed his position again. 

"What in the-" Arya muttered, as the trio watched the knight, entranced as he struggled to decide on a position in the giant chair. 

Ser Jaime noticed them gawking. "I know it's hard, but can you admire my immense beauty some other time? I'm a bit busy at the moment," he said. 

They all jerked their heads away. It's not like their company could get any stranger. 

Arya and Sansa found it endlessly amusing how the pups struggled with their clothes. Terrance tried to bite his off while Florian jumped around still skeptical about the safety of his paws. 

There was a soft knock at the door. Father stood there, smiling. Sansa ran to him, giving him a hug. The Hound nodded his customary "Lord Hand." 

Behind him was Vayon Poole, white as a ghost. 

All her other concerns were lost as soon as she saw him. "Are you alright, ser?" She asked him. But he only stared wide eyed at Jeyne and Theon huddled by the window, away in their own world.

Theon had another large book in his hands. Holding one large chunk of pages vertical, he excitedly showed her two different things on the two different pages either side of it. 

Jeyne nodded at him and returned to her own book but Theon grabbed it so it rested between them, as he shifted closer. He spoke ardently, not pausing for a second. Jeyne slid away minutely. 

Some life seemed to return to Ser Poole's face. 

Theon shifted closer still. Shift - scoot - shift - scoot. They did this till she was pressed against the armrest, and he against her. 

Thing was, Theon didn't seem to notice. Sansa didn't understand why Jeyne's father was so worried. They were simply discussing books, presumably about sea creatures. It was the single most innocent thing she'd seen Theon do. 

  
  


*

"Serves me right, locking them here," father muttered, lifting an ink stained parchment with his thumb and index finger and putting it away. 

"Why would you lock them here?" Sandor asked, turning to face the desk, eyes beginning to narrow. 

"You were supposed to lock them away," Lord Stark countered. 

"I did.  _ We _ did," the Hound said, gesturing to himself and Sansa. 

Ned sighed. "Not properly, clearly. Anyhow, I didn't think they'd be able to reach the desk." 

"Shhhh," came a hiss from the corner. Ned seemed to notice Ser Jaime for the first time. He raised his brow in a silent question at Arya and Sansa. One shrugged while the other shook her head. 

Ser Poole brought another chair for Lord Stark and they both got to work, one writing letters and the other sealing them. 

Arya busied herself with the pups. "Best leave dressing Sandy till Ser Jaime is done reading," Sansa whispered, stroking the pup's head. 

"Be here a while then," Sandor murmured, running his finger along the seam of the last yellow sweater. 

As the outside grew darker, the room grew serene. Only the sound of the rain, turning pages and the pups' shuffling swept through the solar. 

That is, until the prince dashed in, looking over his shoulder. 

"What are  _ you  _ doing here?" Arya stood up and folded her arms.

"Hiding," he muttered, still peering out the door. 

"What?" Arya said, loudly. 

"Nothing," Prince Joffrey said. He slumped into the chair beside the fireplace close to where Sansa and Sandor sat on the floor.

Tossing one leg over the armrest and propping the other - with the heavily bandaged foot - one on the tea table, he sighed in relief. 

He looked much better than he did in the morning. Ill as he seemed then, Sansa had figured it would be days before she'd see him roaming about the castle.

Terrance was immediately on guard, standing between Joffrey and Sandor, teeth bared at the Prince. 

Joffrey threw him a contemptuous look. Sandor grabbed Terry and leaned over Sansa as he passed the pup to Arya. 

"Is everything alright?" Ned asked, putting his quill down. Ser Jaime shushed him again, index finger trailing slowly across the page. 

"Yes," Joffrey rolled his eyes, picking at his nails. Arya fumed. "Just that girl uncle Tyrion got."

"Merry?" Theon laughed. 

"She won't leave me alone," the Prince half complained, half bragged.

"You should be thanking the Gods anyone in the world wants to be around you, let alone a girl," Arya said, her jaw set tight. 

Joffrey looked like he physically bit back a vicious remark. "I apologise Lady Arya, if I've given offence," he said instead, with a soft smile. 

Arya's jaw fell open, the Hound snorted and Sansa beamed.  _ See he's not so bad, is he?  _ She would tell Arya. If he was going to be her gallant prince again, Sansa would be open to making amends. 

"The king dogging you again?" Ser Jaime chuckled. 

Joffrey gave him a look that said 'when is he not.' 

"She's a sweet girl," Ned said, returning to his letter again. 

"She talks like a raven and looks like a broom. What's sweet about that?" Joffrey snickered. "At least she's somewhat amusing." 

A flash of anger crossed Ned's eyes before disappointment settled in. 

"You know she's not that bad looking as far as Freys go," Theon said. 

"What are there literal trolls living by that bridge?" Prince Joffrey said. 

The Hound and Ser Jaime snorted.

A chirping voice came from the lobby. "Prince Joffrey! Will you come to grandfather's next wedding?" 

Panicked, Joffrey slid into the chair, and pulled his legs down, fully prepared to run. 

A girl appeared at the door - Merry, Sansa supposed. She was slightly taller than Arya. Dark riding boots and white socks peeked from underneath her grey frock. It was tied at the waist with a blue sash. The front of her hair was braided neatly while the rest was a giant cloud of curls halfway between blond and brown.

As soon as she entered she raised her hands to her cheeks and let out a high pitched scream. 

"Seven hells," the Hound muttered. 

"I told you," Joffrey mouthed, as he ducked beside the chair, just out of her sight. 

"PUPPIES!" She squealed, jumping up and down. She rushed towards Terry and Flo who were playing with Arya behind the sofa. 

"And they're wearing  _ clothes _ !" She gasped, kneeling as they hurried around her sniffing, tails wagging in full force. Terrance even seemed to forget about terrorising Joffrey. 

"You must be Merry," Arya said, hovering by over the girl, much to her sister's relief. Sansa had developed a deep distrust of new people when it came to her pups. 

"I am. Nice to meet you," she smiled, crooked, white teeth flashing. "What's your name? And how did you know mine? Are these your puppies? Did you make their sweaters yourself?" 

"Arya Stark. Lucky guess. No and no." 

"I heard you've been accompanying the Prince all day," Theon cut in, smirking again. 

"Huh- oh! Yes, I was. He seemed so sad this morning so I thought I'd try to cheer him up." Merry sat cross legged and tried to call Florian to her as Arya introduced the dogs.

Sansa felt bad for her. The prince had been most unkind. Guilty about not speaking up for her then, she decided to find a way to make it upto the girl. 

"Aaaannd?" Theon pressed. 

"And what?" Merry looked up. 

"You think him handsome, don't you?" 

Joffrey had slunk away and was almost out the door when he turned at the question. 

"He's the prettiest person I've ever seen," she said. The Prince grinned, one dimple showing. "He's prettier than  _ Roslin _ , Theon. I didn't even know that was possible." 

Theon howled. 

Merry tilted her head. "What's strange about that? Anyone with eyes can tell." 

"And what else?" He pressed.

"...he's a little boring," she sighed. 

Joffrey frowned, folding his arms, no longer concerned about his escape. 

Ned and Ser Jaime started chuckling silently.

Sandor barked out a laugh. "The boy's a lot of things but I've never heard boring before." 

"Well, he didn't say much all day beside courtesies… and he didn't want to go for a walk, or swim in the Trident or read anything. He's never even played blind man's buff or caught grasshoppers..." 

Before she even completed her list, Sansa knew the girl was on the right track to becoming Arya's new best friend. 

"Grasshoppers?" Arya picked up Terrance and slumped 

next to the girl.

"Why did you spend all day with him then?" Theon said at the same time. 

"Yes, it's a game we play at the Twins. It's very fun to catch them," she said to Arya. Then to Theon, "Lord Tyrion told me to wait in the carriage, remember? I didn't even know there was a fight. But when I found out, I went to see if the prince was fine." 

"You could've just left after then," the Hound said. 

She seemed to notice his burns for the first time as he turned fully to where she sat. After a mild moment of shock, she recovered quickly. "I just sort of started talking and he didn't tell me to shut up or anything so I just kept going. I didn't even notice he didn't say anything for like a good half hour."

Ned's shoulders shook in silent laughter. 

"And after that - well I just... he was so upset, I couldn't just leave him alone." 

"True moral rectitude is a self imposed burden," Ser Jaime said, sagely. 

Ned and Sandor whipped their heads brows furrowed, utterly shocked. 

"What?" The knight straightened up, suddenly defensive.

"What is in that book?" Sandor asked, incredulous. 

Ser Jaime shrugged, while his moth moved to rest over his heart. 

"Ser Jaime," Merry said, suddenly worried. "You are Ser Cleos's cousin and so am I. Does that mean we are cousins too? I sure hope not."

He thought about it for a second. "Doubt it. Think you're safe on that account." 

"Oh goody," she sighed in relief. "I wouldn't want to be Prince Joffrey's aunt."

"No, that wouldn't be right would it? We're not Targaryens after all," the prince's uncle smiled. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so grateful for all the lovely comments I've gotten on this fic! Thank you all so much for your love❤️❤️❤️  
> You all make my day!  
> Thank you for reading ^-^


	9. Chapter 9 Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: This one's mostly fluff 💃🐕🌼

**Sansa**

"Bath time!" Sansa called. The pups were beginning to recognise their names. She doubted they knew who was who but they had learnt to perk up their ears everytime she said any of their names. They stopped rolling around and turned at her voice. 

Florian yawned, plopping down on his belly in the yard. 

"You can't be sleepy now. It's bright and early," Sansa said, picking him up and finding mud free spots to place kisses on. Mud had turned her black pups brown.

The maids had given her a long brown apron, to protect her clothes and a hairnet and gloves should she need them. She would. 

It would be the pups' first proper bath ever. Until now, the Hound had to use a washcloth dipped in lukewarm water to clean them, as their skin was still too delicate.

"Are you excited? You're big boys now," she told them. 

The sunny morning had been approved by the kennelmaster for puppy cleaning endeavours. 

She waited for Sandor to bring the tub and told the pups as much. 

The pups even somewhat knew her and both of Sandor’s names. They'd perk up their ears whenever he was mentioned - which was admittedly far too much for Sansa's comfort of mind. He was only helping her with the puppies after all. But for some reason, her sister had got it in her head that talking about the Hound made Sansa blush. Which was _not_ true. 

It was only that time Arya brought up Waymar Royce - "didn't he have black hair and grey eyes?" He did, so Sansa said he did. And then both of them - Jeyne and Arya - started smirking. 

Sansa wasn't stupid. So she told them it was no big deal and it was a complete coincidence, and she couldn't, after all, control the Hound's colouring. 

But then they started laughing. And Arya said, "I didn't even mention the Hound. Now why are you blushing?" 

The memory made her get all red in the face again. She willed it to subside else she'd be standing in the crowded yard, looking like a ripe tomato in a burlap sack. 

Sansa busied herself watching the carpenters. Preparations were in full swing anticipating Lord Tywin's arrival. The entire castle was being washed and dried, wrung out like laundry. New rooms were prepared and blankets and quilts came in by tonnes. 

On the other end of the yard from where she stood, one carpenter painted red circles on wooden planks. Others hammered a line of archery targets along one edge. For the entertainment of the arriving Lannister soldiers. Sansa thought if she were King Robert, she'd be mighty offended. No one had bothered to lift a finger beyond the ordinary measures for _his_ arrival. 

Sandor appeared carrying a wooden tub, water sloshing out the sides. Even with a brown apron over his roughspun tunic, he still looked formidable. Half his hair was tied in a bun on his crown. Scars all on display, except for the smaller strands that still fell over his eyes. He jerked his head repeatedly, trying to flip them away, sometimes blowing up at them. Stubbornly, they would float back down on the same spot. 

Sansa covered up her laughter under the guise of a well timed coughing fit. Though she doubted she fooled him. “Wait,” she motioned him down and pinned his hair back with one of her rose gold butterfly clips. It covered most of the scars on his head, but left his eyes free. “There.”

He didn't say anything, just grunted in that miffed way of his , plopped the tub on the table and went to get Sandy, who had other plans. Sansa put Florian and Terrance on the table. 

Some of the servants leaned out the kitchen windows and out the backdoor, watching in amusement as the apron clad warrior chased after an angry black puppy.

Sansa finally ran out of coughs and burst out laughing, watching Sandor run around the yard. Sandy had run too close to the carpenters. They tried to shoo him away but he held his own, barking and growling at them. Sandor slowed to a jog and picked him up. The carpenters too started coughing. 

"What?!" He snapped at them.

Meanwhile, Sansa tested the water. 

"Here are the towels you asked for, Sansa," Jeyne said, holding up a white pile. 

"Look," Sansa said, pointing Jeyne to where the Hound and Sandy were telling the carpenters off. Despite their combined best effort, the workers didn't look particularly threatened. 

Jeyne burst out laughing, "what in the world?" 

A guard whistled a 'cuckoo' as he passed by and Jeyne flared up but made it a point to ignore him. 

"Jeyne, are you busy today?" Sansa asked, hoping she wasn't. There were some things she needed to discuss. There were all these rumours about Jeyne being crazy. And Sansa, her best friend, had been one of the last people in Castle Darry to know! Even the Hound had found out before her.

"I suppose so," Jeyne thought about it. "I already helped father with the decorations and gave the lunch orders… so yes." 

"Oh, good. Maybe we could walk the pups together." 

"Sure. I'll go ask father if he needs me to do anything." With that she left, giving each puppy a final pat on the head. 

"What are you lookin' at?" The Hound barked at Ser Cleos's two gawking sons, who ran off with a squeak. 

"Think we should start with Grouch today," he said as he reached her, still holding the pup firmly. 

"Oh… alright," she said and set the other two on the floor so they could go play. "Is the water fine?" 

Sandor dipped a pinky in the water. "'S Fine." 

"Alright so we'll er- put him in the water?" 

"Let me wash the mud off first. Grab that mug and pour some water on my hand when I tell you to." 

"Yes." 

He moved away from the table and held Sandy in one giant hand, the other formed a cup just above the pup's back. "Need to wet the necks first," he said. 

Gently, she poured. The water went first in his hand then around the pup. Sandy yelped in surprise. soon, he quieted down, tail wagging reluctantly. Like he hadn't yet decided if he minded the water. 

"He likes it," Sansa rejoiced, once Sandy hummed in approval. "Oh you're such a good boy! You're so handsome!" 

Once the mud was washed off, they placed him in the tub. He sloshed around for a before Sandor got scrubbing. Using the soap Sansa had gotten - which was meant for newborn babies - he cleaned Sandy, lathering it into the soft fur. The pup stayed quiet, eyes closed. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" The Hound said, his voice warm and surprised. Sandy gave a soft rumble in response, pushing his head into Sandor's hand as he worked. 

Sandor rinsed him with freshwater and handed the pup over to Sansa who stood ready with a towel. 

Wrapping him like she'd seen mother do with baby Rickon, she held him to her heart. Snug and warm. 

The basket was ready in the sun, lined with more towels and soft cloths. She placed Sandy in it. He stayed put, a little bundle of white wool and a shiny black nose peeking out of it. 

She beamed up at Sandor. He gave her another one of his rare lopsided smiles, ones that he seemed to keep buried at all times, unless one fought tooth and nail to come out. 

She returned it with one of equal joy. 

"Father said I can!" Jeyne came running, her hair tied in a northern braid down her back. 

“What took you so long?” Sansa asked. They were almost done with Terrance by now. 

“The kitchen girls have a lot of questions,” she shook her head, pouting. “They cant stop mooning over _‘m’lord Greyjoy_ ,’” she mimicked their riverlands accent, clasped her hands under her chin, and batted her lashes, skirts swirling with the motion. 

“Really? Over Theon?”

“Yes, really. I don't understand it either, I mean, it's just _Theon_. I think -”

“Jeyne!” a maid came scurrying out the kitchen into the yard. “Jeyne, what would m’lord Greyjoy like for dinner? We thought we’ll start the preparations early.”

“Seared scallops in garlic butter. They’re his favourite. Oh, and serve them in the little shells,” Jeyne said not looking up from where she now sat, cuddling Sandy. 

“Thank you!” the maid sang. She turned to leave but stopped. “Should I serve them with bread?”

“Yes. Toast them lightly.”

“Should I butter the loaves as well?”

Jeyne, her back to the girl, gave Sansa a wide eye roll. “Yes, Missy, you should. He is quite incapable of buttering his own loaves, you know” 

“Hmmph. I was just asking,” the girl turned on her heels and stalked off, almost crashing into Arya as she jumped around. “Hundred pardons, m’lady,” she muttered, hurrying out of the way. 

As she made her way to Sansa and the pups, Arya brought the stick around her head and lunged forward. She took two quick steps forward and swirled turning the opposite way. "Hya!" She slashed the air. 

The Hound snorted. Arya gave him a dirty look. Sansa felt herself flush, embarrassed. _Must Arya do this all the time?_

She waited for Jeyne to make a joke, or neigh, but it never came. 

Instead, she seemed distracted. Uncomfortable. Pulling her cloak tighter around her body as she caught some of the carpenters staring. That too had been happening a lot. The staring. And not always because they were teasing Jeyne. Sometimes Sansa wondered if Jeyne would rather deal with all the teasing than be leered at. 

"Don't lock your knees," Sandor said, snapping both girls out of their quiet. "Keep both bent. Not that much. Yes - better." 

Arya tried the same motion again, much smoother this time. She grinned at the Hound and practiced her slashing. 

Sansa was about to tell her to stop, but she seemed to be enjoying herself. Father didn't vex himself about her sister's behaviour. Why should she? 

The pups - except Terrance of course, who only wagged his tail - yelped agreeably, egging her on. Jeyne and Sansa exchanged uncertain looks.

"The motion starts at the shoulder, not at the wrist," he rasped, grabbing another stick. He tapped her wrist. "Watch," he said. He kept his arm still and with the wrist, drew a circle in the air. 

"And this," he did the same but this time kept his wrist fixed and his entire arm moving.

"Better range. Not that it'll make much of a difference at your size." 

Her grin didn't drop at the jape. She tried his method. 

As Arya practiced the moves Sansa had seen Robb, Jon and Theon do for years, the Hound coached her as Ser Rodrick had back at Winterfell. 

He tapped her with the stick whenever he made a suggestion. An ankle, a calf, a shoulder, a back, and most often her left wrist. 

Soon they were joined by other kids practising with their sticks, toy swords and even spatulas. Smallfolk and gentlefolk alike. 

Sometimes the Hound would give them a task - "you attack, you parry" and they'd practice in pairs, looking over for his reaction. He'd nod solemnly and they'd grin and continue. 

Ser Cleos's sons - Willem and Tywin, she learnt - were particularly rough with their blunt swords. They fought each other, arguing till Arya booted them away. 

"Practising?" King Robert said, his giant frame casting a large shadow on the Stark sisters. Sansa curtsied in greeting. Arya stopped to follow suit, but the king waved it away, motioning her to continue. 

The Hound looked uncomfortable, gaze shifting from the King to Prince Renly who stood behind him. The king urged him to continue too, amusement glittering in his eyes as he took it all in. The apron, the pup, the hairclip and the stick. 

"And where's that little girl? Joff's friend?" The king asked, looking around, during a break.

"Last I saw, she was picking flowers in the garden," Arya said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand in between gulps of water. Sansa just about fainted at such appalling manners. 

The king didn't seem to mind though. "Not one for sword fighting?"

"She says she _doesn't like violence_.” They all traded a look - the King, the Hound and Arya - before cracking up. 

+

Robert had his squinting gaze fixed on the far side of the yard, all his good humour gone. 

Sansa followed it. Terrance started getting antsy too, so she picked him up, knowing what was coming. 

Sansa had asked Arya the day of the king and queen had fought, the day Sandor had told her about his scars. The day her nightmares started, red and yellow and black. 

"I'm worried about Terry,” Sansa had said. “What got into him this morning. The way he attacked the Prince? Unprovoked, at that." 

"Well, one could argue that Joffrey is provocation enough," Arya looked down guiltily.

"What did you do?" Sansa narrowed her eyes. 

"You know how I said I'd train Terry to bite Joffrey's trunk? Think I did a very good job."

On the other side of the yard, the Prince kicked a stone as he walked, hands buried deep in his pockets, eyes on the floor. Straight backed and lost in thought. 

His blonde hair flopped forward on his forehead, fixed by his gold circlet. He veered left and right following the stone's path as people scrambled to get out of his way. 

One of the Frey boys got too close. His back slammed into the Prince's shoulder, and they both staggered, nearly falling. 

A flash of anger coloured Joffrey's features the same way it had that day on the kingsroad. 

He grabbed a fistful of the boy’s collar in a moment of rage and let it go just as suddenly. He dropped his hand and backed away. 

The Prince went off on him, though they couldn't hear what he was saying - all clenched fists and bloodshot eyes. The boy - older yet shorter - shrunk away from Joff, his brother joining the plea. They scrambled away, swords forgotten. 

"Joffr-" King Robert was about to boom when he was drowned out in a high pitched screech. 

Daisies in hand, Merry ran to Joffrey and wrapped her arms around his middle in a tight hug. Her head barely reached his heart, even when she stood on her toes in riding boots. 

"Thank you for telling them off!" She squealed, much louder than he'd been. "They were bothering Scruffy all morning and wouldn't listen to me." She picked a daisy from her bunch and gave it to him with the sweetest smile Sansa had ever seen. 

The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, rendering his blonde hair gold as he stood there. Alternating between watching her hop away and the flower she left and her again; utterly perplexed.

\+ 

The draft horses parted as the clopping of Theon's horse grew louder. The wind blew his hair back as he galloped in showing no signs of slowing down. 

The targets lay bare, but not for long. 

He strung his bow and let an arrow loose. It pierced the target perfectly at the center but Theon didn't wait to see. He rode on, shooting arrow after arrow as six of them impaled the six targets, each landing dead center. 

A round of applause rang through the yard. People cheered. Even the King gave him an approving look. Theon grinned and bowed - still astride his black horse - with flourish, like a mummer after a performance. He motioned someone to fetch his arrows and reigned in. 

"Oi, Broomhead!" He called once everyone had returned to their tasks. 

"What do you want Theon? I'm very busy," Merry said, rummaging through a pile of utensils. 

Theon snorted, "doing what, exactly?" He shook his head.

" _Not_ talking to you," she said, pulling out a wooden tankard and arranging her flowers in it. 

"Found a waterfall nearby. I’m going for a round. You want to come?" 

She gasped, arms shooting up as she squealed. "Yes! Me in front!

"Good morning, Dancer," she said, rubbing his nose. "Will you carry me too?" 

"He says yes," said Theon, impatiently. "Now get on." He lent her a hand and she put her foot in the saddle and tried to climb up. 

"A little help please?" She turned, eyebrows arching at the group of noblemen looking at her. 

King Robert picked her up and placed her in the saddle. "Thank you, King Robert." Giddy, with joy, she beamed, a tiny lavender sprig next to Theon in her purple dress and cloak. 

Theon nodded to everyone. The awkwardness between him and King Robert almost palpable. 

“Jeyne,” Theon said, pulling his horse closer. “Would you like to come too?” 

"It'll be fun!" Merry said. "Be warned: we go _really_ fast!" She swung her legs, leaning forward like a bird about to take flight, laughing as Theon poked her in the ribs.

Jeyne’s mouth opened and shut like a fish. “I - uh-" she looked at Sansa, who nodded, and the Arya who shrugged. "I’ll go ask father.” She pointed to Vayon Poole who was overseeing the woodwork. And had no doubt heard it all, if his expression was anything to go by. 

“You can go, child,” King Robert said. 

Theon lent her a hand down too, but she wrung hers. 

Jeyne curtsied to the king, mumbling out a thanks. But her hopeful gaze returned to her father, only relaxing when he gave her an almost imperceptible nod. “I’ll go change,” she smiled as she skipped away, brushing off non existent dust from her skirt. 

“Why don't you ask your prince if he wants to come?” Theon ribbed Merry. 

She turned red, then turned around to look at him. “Why don't you ask all your salt wives?" She crossed her arms. "And Kyra and Daisy and Kelly and -” Theon clapped a hand around her mouth, giving a shake of his head and a forced smile to everyone watching. Merry mumbled through it. She pulled his hand down with both of hers, “and Peach and Bethany -”

“Now you're just making up names,” Theon huffed. 

"Can you tell?" She shot back.

“Alright, we got it. Fine, don’t ask your prince.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “He’s not _my_ prince, but I’ll ask.”

“Joffrey will go,” King Robert said before she could. He motioned for his son - who had found another stone to kick, with a flower in hand this time - to come over and told him of the plan. 

“You should all go,” The king clapped Arya on the back and smiled at Sansa. “Make a day of it.” 

“I’ll go get Ser Barristan,” Joffrey sighed, barely meeting his father’s eye. 

+

“Where’s the boy? What’s taking him so long?” King Robert huffed, watching the castle door, expectant. 

“The Queen wanted a word with him, your grace,” Ser Barristan said, immaculate in his kingsguard armour and spotless white cloak. 

“The Other’s take that woman,” King Robert grumbled, conveniently ignoring Ned’s pointed look . 

“Hey,” Arya tugged her foot away from Flo who was attempting to bite it. Sansa sighed and shook her head at the Hound. The pups were muddy again. “Seven hells,” he muttered, pulling on his apron and wiping the mud off with a wet cloth. 

Sansa helped, getting the dry towels ready and patting each pup dry as he handed them over to her one by one. 

The men took one look at Sandor and the coughing fits started anew. 

“Everyone coming down with something?” He snapped at no one in particular. 

Ned gave him a pitying smile, somehow fond, as he finished up with Sandy. He’d been the first one to get a proper bath and had somehow ended up dirtiest of the three. 

“Gods, you can’t -” Ser Jaime was saying, the sound of his footsteps could be heard even in the yard.

“Oh, lay off, Jaime,” came the Queen’s response. The clacking of her heeled sandals making their own characteristic echo. “I won’t have any time left with my Jojobee once father makes him a squire.”

“Mother,” Joffrey hissed through his teeth, embarrassed. 

They seemed to ignore him. 

“He doesn’t need a helm. They’re going to go see a waterfall, not slay a dragon,” Ser Jaime drawled. 

“Yes, he does. You’ve seen how he speeds that wretched horse.”

“I know how to ride a horse, mother.”

“Of course, you do, pudding,” her voice grew louder as they appeared at the entrance. The queen had one hand on Joffrey’s head, the other around his shoulder. Ser Jaime to her other side, nostrils flaring. 

“I don’t need -” Joffrey stopped, as several pairs of amused eyes met his. He whispered something to his mother who shot a burning look at her husband before letting him go. “Alright then, you have fun,” she said finally. Joffrey stalked forward but she grabbed his arm. Catching up to him, she ran her hand through his hair and kissed him on the cheek. 

“Mother,” Joffrey mumbled, wiping the kiss away.. 

“Don’t go too fast,” she called after him. 

He halted midstride, and turned to give her a beseeching look. The queen sighed.

“Just don’t fall off,” Ser Jaime said, crossing his arms. "It would upset your mother."

Joffrey grinned as he appeared moments later on horseback. His stallion was a beauty - white gold, with deeper tones in his mane. It stood out from the midnight that were Dancer and Stranger, Sansa’s chestnut and Arya’s mottled mares. 

Once Sansa was seated on her mare, she took her to Stranger, though the mare kept a safe distance. Despite Sansa's urging, she wouldn't go ahead. 

Eventually, she settled on cooing at the pups from afar. They leaned out, paws on the lid of the basket, whimpering longingly at her and were it possible for her to make such a noise, she would have too. 

"Quit whining, she's right here," the Hound grumbled, patting their heads, willing them to settle down.

“Ready?” Theon called. 

Everyone nodded. 

He helped Jeyne up and she settled, side saddle behind him. Then he snatched her picnic basket and handed it, absent mindedly, over to Sandor who was already holding the pups’ basket in his other hand. 

“You’ll fall off before we leave the yard.” Theon laughed, grabbed both her hands and pulled them tight around his waist. Jeyne barely had time to react as Theon jerked the reigns and Dancer lifted his forelegs in the air. She clutched him tighter, burying her face in his neck, as the horse galloped forward leaving behind a cloud of dust. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for disappearing y'all  
> Ive been busy with real life and didn't realise exactly how long it'd been between updates 🙈  
> As always thank you for reading ❤️


	10. Chapter 10

**Jeyne**

Jeyne couldn't say whether it was her heart, Theon’s or the wind that pounded so hard in her chest. The world blew past them in streaks of stone grey, blue and then endless green. Every shade she had seen in the north and every shade she might have dreamt of sometime. They rode with the Trident on one side and the fields upon rice fields on the other.

Once or twice when she gathered enough courage to let go of him and reach out into the air. She could almost hold the wind, soft and firm, like cotton.

Somehow it was hard to be afraid when he radiated such confidence. It had made its way into her too. The wind was cool against her skin, and she could tell  just  how cold her nose had gotten every time she inhaled. When she felt Dancer slowing down, she let out a sound of protest.

“We should wait for the others,” Theon chuckled. “The rest of the way isn’t this easy.”

So they did, stopping at the threshold of the woods where the trees reached their arms forward,  invitingly . The fragrance of rain hung in the air. Jeyne released her iron grip on Theon’s shirt (albeit  grudgingly  ), untangled herself, and smoothed out her hair with warm fingers .

“Look the water’s golden,” Merry pointed, her voice full of wonder. Jeyne twisted in her seat. Her breath caught in her throat.

The water  was indeed  golden, but not from the sunlight. It was the same gold she’d seen all too well in the pool of Ploughman keep’s Godswood.

“It is stunning,” Theon agreed, mistaking her gasp for one of astonishment. “I’ve never seen water this gold.”

“Theon, can I go see?” Merry bent her neck up and up to look him in the eyes.

“Why not?” he said the same time Jeyne squealed, "NO!"

“Why not?” Merry asked this time, while Theon raised a brow.

"You don’t know if the water’s clean, Merry. Besides, you’ll get all dirty,” Jeyne offered  weakly .

“It must be clean, Jeyne. I saw some women washing clothes in the river a while back.” Jeyne had seen them too.

“Alright then,” Theon said, pulling Merry into his lap and swinging off. “You sure you don't want to see? I’m sure you can handle a little river water.” He looked up at her  expectantly  as Jeyne clutched the reigns.

She nodded, worried eyes flitting to the bushy haired little girl that already had both hands buried in the water . Disjointed ripples cut through the flowing water.

Once he helped her down, Jeyne rushed over to the bank and sank to her knees.  She tried to discern whether her kraken had somehow found a way to leave the Godswood and swim free in the largest river in Westeros  . Jeyne recalled Tabitha saying that the pool was bottomless.  Maybe  it’s connected to the trident, she tried to rationalize her belief.

It was getting harder to do now that she’d become ‘insane Jeyne’ amongst the entire household of Darry. Word would soon reach father and Lord Stark.

_Please don’t be close to the surface,_ she prayed  fervently  , squinting at the water. _Don’t hurt her, Stheno. Gods…_ The glow dimmed around the same time a large cloud blocked the sun, and Jeyne sighed in relief.

“It is beautiful,” Merry said, as if in agreement. “It’s so much like our Green Fork, I can hardly believe it's another river.” She prattled on about the Twins and their bridge without expecting an answer. For that at least Jeyne was grateful.

“Now you can hardly blame the water for spoiling your dress if you kneel in the mud of your own volition,” Theon said, running his hands through his hair . Silver grey now, everywhere but for the black roots. Jeyne felt herself go red. Whether it was due to his teasing or because he stood so close behind her, their shadows were one - she couldn't say.

He had left Dancer free to graze.  The stallion wandered, never too far, between bushes and bamboo trunks, the pointed leaves weaving into his mane . Merry followed him, reigns in hand, wherever he went.

“She’s very cute,” Jeyne said, watching the pair, eyes flitting to the water. Which was a natural blue grey.

“She is, isn’t she?” He agreed, a fond smile in place. “I’ve never had a little sister,” he said. Theon's eyes widened immediately, giving away that he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“What about Sansa and Arya?” Jeyne got to her feet.

“What about Sansa and Arya?” He paused. “They’re Robb’s little sisters,” he said, with an air of finality but Jeyne wasn’t ready to drop it.

“You are like a brother to them.”

“Yes, _like_ a brother,” he agreed and countered.

Jeyne didn’t know what to make of that. Every passing day she felt more and more like she’d spent all her life in a bubble and it had popped once she left home. Back in Winterfell everything was perfect- and everyone  was treated  the same.

He had fit in so well, Jeyne thought he might as well have been born Theon Stark. But here -Here, he was a traitor’s heir. Ironborn. Reaver’s blood. And if he wasn’t so highborn, they’d have let him know it. She was sure.

It was a shock to her, sheltered as she was, when they treated her with such crudeness. They mocked and the stable boys leered much more  openly  than they’d ever dare to at Sansa.  She helped out father now too, taking the laundry, calling the maids and arranging the parchments and inkwells for Lord Stark .

But Jeyne liked to imagine she was taking it all rather well. Which was, in no small part, due to Stheno. “Let them call me whatever they like,” she’d think. “I have a kraken.”  Having the truth on her side - in the form of a giant pointed head and several spindly limbs - was the only way she managed to bear her mockery with some semblance of grace .

She had to admit though, it didn’t feel good. Every time someone ‘cuckooed’ at her, she heard neighs instead. And instead of her own lowered gaze, saw Arya’s scrunched up form, stalking away. How it shamed her now.

"Where is everyone?” Merry asked, hands full of leaves she’d collected. She handed them to Theon, who took them without a word and resumed his sightseeing.

“They'll catch up soon-”

“Oh! Look there’s Joffrey,” she pointed behind, jumping and waving as he neared, violet velvet and gold hair. His prized stallion sped past them straight into vines and branches. Jeyne could understand why the Queen had insisted on a helm.

Arya followed close behind. The prince had a wide grin plastered on his face while Arya’s brows  were knitted  in determination.

Theon pulled Merry aside, afraid she might jump in the path. Joffrey was winning, Jeyne noted with some satisfaction, despite herself. Arya had made no small show of her riding skills all down the kingsroad.

“Hey!” Theon called, raising a hand but the prince sped past them without so much as a look.

Arya made a noise of fury as she fell behind, distracted  momentarily  by the three of them. Joffrey reigned the horse straight into the woods. She spurred her mare forward, wind blowing her short hair away from her forehead.

“Hey! Don’t go-” Theon called after them and pushed Merry in Jeyne’s arms. “It’s not safe!”

"Your grace!” Ser Barristan came up behind, voice hoarse, as if he’d been screaming for long. “Stop! Prince Joffrey!”

When they all finally caught up. Jeyne could see that Joffrey won the race. She could tell by Arya’s burning eyes. _It’s only because his horse is much larger and he is reckless in a way Arya isn’t,_ Jeyne thought. And that took some of the wind out of his victory. 

Ser Barristan scolded him as they made their way back to safety but the Prince paid him no mind.

They went  slowly , side by side, for the rest of the way. Sansa and the Hound joining later. Jeyne’s basket in her hand and the ones wit the puppies in his.

Merry prattled on about how similar everything was to the Green Fork. “We have a tree exactly like this one, isn’t that amazing?” she’d gasp. “Look at that bird! We see the same ones back home.”  Though she spoke without waiting for a response, it was often the Prince who’d scoff, unable to stop his eyes from following whatever she was pointing at  . “It's a tree. There's  probably  thousands exactly like this one.” "It's a blasted sparrow, what did you expect?"

She’d shake her head like she  was disappointed  in him for not seeing it and continue pointing things out.

The terrain got rougher as they went deeper into the forest, and up the mountain. They slowed by another clearing to give the horses a rest. Jeyne did learn one new lesson: Theon’s concept of nearby wasn’t the same as everyone else’s concept of nearby. It was so beautiful though, no one complained.

Jeyne and Theon stayed still,  just  breathing. In and out. Air so clean, it felt like it washed her from the inside out.

The Hound helped Sansa down and leashed the pups, following along on foot as they sniffed their way through the area . A stream trickled by. Merry splashed in the water, boots covered in mud. Arya was still mounted too, itching for another race.

Not one to tolerate silence for long, Sansa asked, “Who will you squire for, your grace?”

“Ser Addam Marbrand,  maybe . He is to be the new Commander of the Gold Cloaks.”

“Aren’t you too old to start as a squire?” Arya said, pulling up.

“Aren’t you too ugly to talk to me?” he shot back.

Jeyne knew Arya hadn’t meant it  maliciously  (she was in fact trying to befriend him, at Sansa’s request) but no one had told Prince Joffrey that .

"Alright, alright,” Theon pulled Dancer between the two riders, “cool off, Jojobee.”

The girls giggled.

“And what did your mother call you, Greyjoy? If you can even remember, that is,” Joffrey sneered.

Theon’s breath hitched. Jeyne felt his stomach clench under her palm. Before he could answer, Joffrey yanked the reins and went forward.

“That little shit,” Arya said, glaring at the back of his yellow head.

“He is,” Jeyne allowed. But the damage  was done .

“Merry!” Theon bellowed, “we’re moving up again!”

She sprang out from behind a tree. "Coming, Theon!” And when she  accidentally  splashed some mud on Joffrey, it was some small justice. "I'm sorry," she looked up at him with dark, shining eyes. "You can wash your hands in the stream."

"The stream?" Joffrey  was appalled . "What am I, a peasant?"

When they reached their destination, Jeyne was  absolutely  floored. Thick trunks and stringy vines give way to a large, flat, stony cliff. It  was shadowed by  the largest waterfall Jeyne had ever seen. It burst down from an even higher mountain, spraying them all with rogue drops. Her neck strained as she followed it up and up and up to see the top.

A general sound of awe left the group. Theon helped Merry down, who immediately ran towards the prince, then Jeyne. “That’s what I thought,” Theon said as he pulled her off the saddle. She had no words for that either. She nodded without taking her eyes away from it, lips parted.

“It’s magical!” Sansa was saying.

“This is nothing before the ones we have in  Casterly  Rock,” Joffrey bragged. Theon rolled his eyes and Jeyne couldn’t help but do the same.

The others began settling the horses.  The Hound tended to his stallion and Arya took Ser Barristan’s (who smiled kindly at her as he took Prince Joffrey’s golden one) and Sansa’s who was too busy wrangling the dogs to respond - along with her own .

Jeyne still had a palm pressed against Dancer’s flowing mane when Theon jolted her out of her trance. “My mother called me baby. Her baby boy, since I was the youngest,” her said,  suddenly .

Jeyne bumped into his chest as she turned to face him. He steadied her and walked over to the other side so they both looked at each other over the horse’s back.  She didn’t know how to respond, other than ‘why are you telling me this?’ But that was hardly a fitting reply, so she  simply  nodded .

He seemed to want more - like he’d made some big revelation and deserved a conclusion fit for such a feat.

“That’s sweet,” she offered, hoping he wouldn’t think her cold for not saying more. Talk of mothers was still salt in her wounds, even after all these years.

“Her name is Alannys." He took the reins and lead Dancer away.

Seeing him walk almost  aimlessly  down the narrow path, she remembered when she had first seen Theon Greyjoy . It was one of her earliest memories.

Jeyne had missed her father. She couldn’t have said how long he was gone, but it seemed like forever.

He had left with Lord Stark and taken a wagon and a horse.

On the morning he  was supposed  to return, Jeyne could hardly contain her excitement. She flew from one chamber to the next, announcing that her father was coming home. She didn’t even have to wait with Sansa and the rest of the Starks, all proper, in the yard. No, she stood right at the portcullis. And sped down the cleared path - salt crunching beneath her feet - at the first sight of the banners.

Someone had tried to stop her, but she had wiggled out. “Daddy! Daddy!” she called  happily , arms outstretched.

Father had dismounted before the rest and picked her up. Lord Stark had smiled  softly  but Jeyne was  barely  aware.

Once Lord Stark entered - everyone including his children, except of course, little Arya (whose reaction had been much like Jeyne’s) - knelt in welcome .

“Who’s this?” Jeyne had asked, pointing to the black haired boy who stood beside a queer looking trunk almost as big as him. His nose was pink and he rubbed his palms together, occasionally blowing warm breath into them.

“This is Master Theon, Jeyne. He’s going to live with us now,” father explained.

“Is it another bastard?” Robb had asked, much to Lady Catelyn’s embarrassment.

“I’m no bastard, you are!” the new boy shouted.

“No, Jon is the bastard,” Jeyne came to Robb’s rescue.

During the feast that night, Jeyne and Sansa sat together and ate their fill of lemon pies. The singers sang new songs about King Robert’s victory, along with old favourites. And the soldiers traded stories. Some were particularly loud, like Lord Umber. “He was standing right before me! Beast of a man - Victarion Greyjoy! And for a second, by the Gods, for a second I thought I  was done  for but then out of nowhere this arrow comes flying by - Hey! More wine!” The men pounded their tankards on the table and the children joined in. Except Sansa - who insisted it wasn’t ladylike - and him.

The new boy - this Theon - didn’t eat his vegetables and steak, Jeyne noted. Or even the apple pies and lemon cakes.

She had never been the most observant girl, but for some reason, she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

The children  were sent  to bed after Lord Umber announced “let the real feast begin!”  Jeyne snuck out, stepping  gingerly  over the sleeping form of Septa Mordane, to witness it firsthand . Instead, she had run into Theon Greyjoy. A small frame bathed in torchlight, stumbling around the grey castle corridors.

“Are you lost?” she asked him.

“No,  just  looking around,” he smiled, like he’d made a joke. She wasn’t sure if he was making fun of her.

“I think  you are,” she folded her arms. “Tell me which wing this is if you aren’t.”

“Alright,” he looked around  uneasily . "I’m a little lost.”

“Jeyne?” Father stepped into the corridor from the side gate of the Great Hall. “I thought I heard you,” he smiled. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see the real feast.”

He chuckled and picked her up. “You should be in bed now. And you too Master Theon.”

“He  is lost  ,” Jeyne piped up,  helpfully . Theon blushed, or at least she thought he did. Robb and Jon never blushed, so she wasn’t sure what that looked like on boys.

“We’ll take little Theon to his rooms first,” father said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He shrugged it off  violently . “I don’t want to go with you. I hate you!”

Now, so far Jeyne had liked Theon. And found him handsome. And thought his name to be the best name she had ever heard. She may have even told Sansa and Lady Catelyn and Septa Mordane that she was going to marry him.

But all that had ended the moment he opened his mouth. In that moment, Jeyne, aged four, had been  fully  prepared to fight Theon, aged ten.

“How can you say that?” She cried, and lunged down from her father’s grip. How could he? Father was the bestest, kindest, nicest man ever. Even more than Lord Stark.

“Jeyney, Jeyney baby, it's alright,” father patted her  softly . “It’s alright.”

“No it’s not! He shouldn’t say that! That’s mean! He’s bad.” She was on the verge of tears.

“No. No, he’s not bad,” father said  sternly . “He’s a good boy and I want you to be friends with him.”

“He didn’t even finish his steak and vegetables. Or the cakes. Not even a little bit,” she pointed at him as she offered further proof of Theon’s badness.

But it had the opposite effect. “ Really ?” father asked.

Theon didn’t answer ( _how rude?_ ),  just  tugged at the frayed ends of his tunic.

Father put Jeyne down and picked Theon up. Jeyne’s grumbles of protests  were lost  in Theon’s own.  “Come dear,” father said, as he fetched a plate from the kitchen loaded with pies and mashed potatoes and all the other good stuff, no vegetables in sight .

Jeyne, very  responsibly  , held the plates as she followed father out into the Godswood.  They sat nestled between weirwood roots as Theon looked into the spring and finally had his dinner .

“Jeyne!” Theon knocked on her forehead, “anyone there?"

She blushed.

“If it’s some boy you’re thinking of, it better be me,” he laughed.

A small sad smile etched itself on her mouth. He must’ve seen something in her eyes, because his got sad for a minute too. Then he immediately proceeded to admire the view rather than talking further.

Jeyne watched him, spellbound as he forewent the neat line of narrow trees where the other horses  were tied . He began undoing Dancer's saddle buckles.

A knot in her stomach, she followed him. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” he grunted as he yanked on a particular stubborn strap.

“Yes, but why? Aren’t you afraid he’ll run away?”

“If he does then he’s better off wherever he wants to go.”

“Theon… that thing with the prince,” Jeyne lowered her voice. “He shouldn’t have said that. That was mean.”

To her surprise he huffed out a little laugh. “Arya has the right of it. He’s a little shit. At least he didn’t dance around it like everyone else.” At this Dancer thought he was being addressed for he nudged Theon with his nose. “Not you Dance,” he patted the horse’s neck.

By the time they rejoined the others, Theon’s familiar grin had returned and so had his japes at the expense of everybody around  .  He pulled a rug over all his sour feelings - even Jeyne  was given  the same treatment as always, though she was sure she let him down . He seemed to want to share more, for once. He was so like how he usually was, it made her wonder if this was how he spent all his time.

_____________

**Sansa**

_Ser Barristan is a lovely man,_ Sansa thought. _Though not the least bit subtle._

He kept jutting his chin in Sansa’s direction, while his eyes bore into Joffrey’s - who made a firm point to ignore the knight  . He focused instead on Merry who was trying to see over the cliff from six feet away from the edge. “  Just  go upto the edge,” Joffrey said.

“No, crazy! That’s dangerous.”

“You’re a chicken.”

“Am not! That's  just  dangerous.”

“Should we let them off the leashes a little?” She asked Sandor when he returned.

“Not here,” he glanced over to the cliff. “Don’t know where you’ll find more if these fall off.”

She knew he’d meant it as a joke but she narrowed her eyes at him. “They’re my babies!” she pulled them close and rechecked the leash fastenings. The part a foot from their collar was chewed up on all three of them. "They'll learn to chew through metal soon," she sighed. 

Arya busied herself with finding a suitable sword replacement. Jeyne and Theon strolled by - him  nibbling on whatever she had managed to pack in the morning rush.

“Are you lying?” Sansa heard Merry say.  They still edged around the waterfall while Ser Barristan stood behind, ramrod stiff, hand on the hilt of his sword .

“No, I'm not. Why would I lie about that?” Joffrey scoffed.

“But -but- that’s not what Walder said.”

“Ugh, more Walders. Where did he even see the Hound?” That caught Sansa’s attention. And Sandor’s. Letting their own conversation trail off, they waited to get some context.

“At your name day, silly,” she giggled. “Big Walder and Little Walder went with Grandfather - and they told me about everyone they saw.”

“Well I don’t know what they told you but that is the Hound. What did they say about me?”

“They said you had yellow hair and looked like the Queen." The Prince narrowed his eyes. "Also, he is not the Hound! He’s supposed to be your sworn shield! And you don’t have one, so where is the real one?” Merry countered  logically , folding her arms.

“What do you think I’ve got him hidden in a saddlebag somewhere? That _is_ the Hound, you idiot.”

“ Really ? That man with the puppies and the hair clip?”

Joffrey made an offended noise. “Wha- he is scary. Everyone looks harmless with puppies.”

“Not Cousin Walda’s husband. Lord Roose is scary no matter how many puppies you give him. And his son is even scarier with them.”

“I don’t care if you believe me or not,” he said, in a tone that very much gave away  just  how much he cared.

“I do believe you… It's only- I thought he’d be bigger. And he doesn’t have red eyes. He’s not even ugly."

Sansa immediately turned to Sandor but he was unreadable. “My lord?” She wanted to say more, say that she agreed with Merry, that he wasn’t scary or ugly. That she had in the past few weeks learned better than to judge people by their appearance.

But the words  were caught  in her throat. She waited for him to mull them over himself before she added her own two - three - a million cents.

“...how many half burnt people do you see?” Joffrey and Merry - or at least Merry still hadn’t noticed that Sansa and Sandor had returned from their small walk. And the pups were silent for once.

“More than you’d think,” she pointed to a flowering branch too high for her to reach and Joffrey lowered it for her. She sniffed the flowers, pet them as if they were animals and nodded. He let the brach go. Ser Barristan walked behind them, holding back a smile. “My father is almost a Maester.”

“Almost?”

“He studied at the Citadel when he was younger and only had three links to get before he became a maester.”

“Why didn’t he then?”

“He met my mother,” she said, pointing to another branch.

*

“Lady Sansa, would you do me the honour of joining me for a stroll,” Prince Joffrey offered her a spotless hand, sometime later .

Ser Barristan has managed to rope him in finally, she thought as she accepted. "The honour would be mine, my price." _Little bird, indeed._ Much of the walk passed in near silence, while they both resorted to sightseeing two feet from each other. Her meagre hopes at him being her soulmate dwindled to say the least.

Their conversation was sterile, to say the least.  Having grown accustomed to well meaning but gruff manners, and truths no matter how awkward, Sansa found the Prince’s polished manners and forced compliments irritating to say the least . ‘I don’t want to talk to you, and you don’t want to talk to me, so let's end this mummer’s farce,’ she wanted to tell him. But she didn’t.

_It’s not like I was much different,_ she thought.  Her courtesy was impenetrable and unwavering in the face of brutishness, but it was tiring her now. They spent their walk - one large round from the cliff through the denser woods - talking about the weather and the scenery  . “Your crown is very beautiful, your grace,” she said during one of many awkward silences.  The gold circlet was new, fashioned in the shape of vines with one proud stag and one roaring lion meeting each other at his forehead . “It’s new,” was all he said, hand reaching up to tug at it.

He didn’t bring up the incident on the kingsroad, didn’t apologise for his behaviour beyond a parchment thin “I hope we can let bygones be bygones  .” And he  absolutely  refused to talk about the ‘beast’ that had savaged his chambers.

When she couldn’t take it any longer, Sansa asked him, “Why did you think I set my dog on you?”

He glared in response before turning away. “A misunderstanding. Ser Barristan looked into it. Must’ve been a coyote or something that got in, while Dog was sleeping.”  He threw an incensed look at the Hound who was currently  being badgered by  the endless questions Merry asked him  . She held Florian’s leash. Who was being a good pup and trotting along  obediently . Sansa felt proud.

But the sight only seemed to make the Prince angrier.

“Why did you assume it had something to do with me?” She pressed.

“Well-” he scoffed. “Why wouldn’t I? It happened a few days after you got those stupid mutts.”

“They are not stupid!”

"Yes, they are. And they are annoying as hell!”

“Prince Joffrey, a word,” Ser Barristan said, titling his head toward a tree. Joffrey almost had steam coming from his ears as he followed the knight. To calm herself, Sansa thought to join Sandor.

“Can you pick this up?” Merry asked, pointing to a fallen log.

He grunted in affirmation.

“And this?” Pointing to another  slightly  larger one.

“Yes.”

“What about this one?” She hurried to a tree, Flo following, awed.

“If it weren’t fucking rooted to the ground,” he shrugged. Sansa thought there was an unmistakable smugness there. She felt proud again, on behalf of her friend. He gave her Sansa an eye roll when he saw her standing at the start of the clearing.

"You said a bad word,” Merry pointed, scandalised. He snorted. “What about this rock?” She asked, it was a big grey boulder, smooth but for the moss covering its bottom. Same height as the girl next to it,  notwithstanding the puffy hair .

“Yes.”

“Really  ?” She got excited  suddenly . “What about me?”

“You  really  think you’re bigger than that boulder?” He raised a brow, sending an amused half smirk Sansa’s way.

Merry looked down and patted her tummy. “I  just  eat a lot of cake.”

“My lady,” Joffrey said when he returned and they resumed their walk. “I apologise for losing my calm. I must learn to deal with women’s whining with more patience, Ser Barristan says. I hope you’ll be kind enough to forgive me,” he said and then - painfully obviously, shot a look at Ser Barristan.

_Women’s whining?_ She had asked him a question . _Respectfully!_

And  admittedly  the Prince wasn’t the sharpest knife in the tool shed, but he wasn’t this stupid. Sansa scruffed her toe against some dirt. This wasn’t at all going the way she had imagined. He could be gallant when he wanted, she knew. _He wants me to know he doesn’t mean it_.

Sansa sighed, debating whether to reopen the matter or not. “What about Lady?”

“Who?” he seemed  genuinely  lost.

“My wolf!” Sansa’s fists balled by her sides, as she struggled to keep her voice even. He doesn’t even remember.

"I had nothing to do with that,” he snapped.

“You let the Queen - you never even tried to stop her- You lied!”

"So did you.”

She  was shocked  . “For you!” She hated how angry he had made her, and the way she was acting. Sansa had always  been poised  and calm. But she was shouting at him now. “It was your fault not Arya’s or her friend’s. You started the fight.”

“You didn’t say that to your father now, did you?” he sneered.

“I… I-” _I wanted you to like me_ _._ “I should’ve.”

“Well, your mistake,” he shrugged, and resumed walking. A more callous person would have hit him. But ladies didn’t go around hitting princes, no matter how despicable. And Sansa was a lady. Ser Barristan rushed over to salvage the situation, but it was too late.

“It was my mistake that I ever thought you were honourable and gallant. How could I have ever thought you could be my soulmate?!” It wasn’t the most ladylike thing but she stomped her foot as she climbed back up to the waterfall. She needed her pups to cool down.

“Did you have pets when you were younger?” Merry said to Sandor. Good. They haven’t heard.

The Hound’s mouth twitched and Sansa could guess that there was some unpleasant memory attached to the question  . She hurried over.  “No,” he said in a clipped tone that indicated that this discussion was over, but Merry continued, oblivious .

“I  really  ,  really  want a kitten, but father says I have to wait till I’m a little older.  Did you get the dog helm and then everyone started calling you the Hound or were you called the Hound and then you got the helm to match ?”

“Seven Hells, don’t you ever shut up?” He snapped, finally, though not much harsher than Sansa  was used  to.

Tears welled up in Merry’s eyes  instantly . She handed over Florian’s leash with shaking hands. “I’m sorry,” her lip wobbled, “I won’t bother you any longer.” She left and found a small rock to sit on, facing the cliff, hunched back to them all.

Sandor’s mouth fell open. Something like guilt filled up his eyes as he watched the little girl swipe at her eyes.

Before Sansa could intervene, her betrothed blew past her and slumped down next to Merry. He yanked off his crown so hard, Sansa hoped he pulled some hair with it and scratched his head with both hands.

“Joffrey, do you think I’m annoying?” Merry asked him in a small voice when he  was done .

“Oh yes, definitely,” he laughed, as he stretched his neck.

She shoved him.

"That’s treason,” he laughed again.

She shoved him harder, soft fists raining on his shoulder, which  obviously  weren’t meant to hurt. “I’m serious,” she insisted.

“What happened? He said something?”

Sandor saw her finally. Sansa opened her mouth to say something but he shook his head and tugged at the leash, trying to get the pups to move.

“He got angry,” Merry said, holding Joffrey’s hand, eyes watery.

“He’s always angry,” Joffrey clicked his tongue as he curled his fingers around hers. “So much for puppies and hairclips. I told you he’s the Hound.”

Sansa followed Sandor down the hunting path, pups  nearly  running as they tried to keep up with his long strides . At least she was grateful he hadn’t heard Merry when she told Joffrey she was sorry she didn’t believe him before.

He stopped only when the path  was blocked by  a tree felled by lightning. “My lord, I’m sure she didn’t understand. It wasn’t like you meant to -”

He barked out a laugh, bitter. “Shut her up? I did. And I succeeded too. Not going to be that one talking off the one ear I have left. Not anymore.”

He leaned against the fallen log and picked at the twig of a branch jutting out from the trunk. Sansa took her place beside it. She decided to give him time. And  maybe  change the topic in the meantime. “Can I tell you something?”

“Hmm.”

“ I think  Prince Joffrey is mean.”

To her surprise, he let out a dry laugh. “Caught on, have you?”

Sansa shook her head. It was true, she should’ve known when none of her brothers liked him, not even Robb - and he liked everyone. “How can he do that? He’s horrible one minute, and the next he goes and acts all sweet in front of Merry.”

“Doesn’t want to lose his new toy, is all. Nothing to do with you.” Sandor exhaled. “Save yourself some headache and ignore him. That’s what everyone else does.”

She thought over his words, and they settled  heavily  in her stomach. She wanted to love her husband, to laugh with him, to have little sons and daughters. And lots of puppies. Not... ignore him.

_And what would when he became the king?_ How would they ignore him when all of Westeros would be bowing and scraping before him? _Just don’t think about it for now,_ she told herself. _I’ll talk to father about the betrothal_. She didn’t know if it was her place, but as Jeyne Poole would say, it certainly was her life.

"About before, I understand," she said after a time. 

“What?”

“-why you got upset. It’s because Merry asked about when you were small."

“Little bird’s started using her head, has she?” he mocked.

“Am I wrong?”

“No.”

“It’ll be fine. Merry will  probably  forget about this by evening.” After he fell silent for a long time, she urged him, “say something,”

“I don’t get why I care, is all. Made plenty of kids cry - and for much worse reasons.” He got a dark look in his eyes. “Never bothered me before. Think I’m going soft, little bird.” He huffed out something between a sigh and a laugh.

She didn’t like how he made children cry nor that he so  flippantly  admitted to it. But he did say he felt bad about it now. “You're different now.  Maybe  that’s not such a bad thing.”

“What do you mean different?”

“Well, haven’t you noticed? The difference in you and the people around -”

“That’s just because they think I won’t break their bones since I have these mutts to care for,” he gestured vaguely to the mutts in question who were chewing on whatever they could find. She found she didn’t mind it when he called them mutts. She knew it was meant fondly.

“Those carpenters this morning, they weren’t scared of you.”

He looked at her like she was daft and pointed to the clip he still hadn’t removed.

“No, it wasn’t the clip, or the apron or even Sandy. It was because you weren’t angry.”

He snorted. It made her sad that he didn’t believe her. Well, he wasn’t the only one who could belt out harsh truths.

“Sandor,” Sansa said his name for the first time. No titles, or my lords -  just  his given name. She was his friend and friends called each other by their given names. And they were always there for each other.

He looked at her like she sprouted another head.

“It wasn’t your scars that scared me. Or even twitching.” His mouth twitched at that. “I  was scared  of you when you were angry. And you were always angry. But you weren’t this morning, not  really . I could tell. That’s why they weren’t afraid of you, those carpenters and those children.”

He swallowed  heavily . “Different isn’t bad,” he looked up at the sky.

“No, it isn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters keep getting longer, despite my best efforts to rein them in xD  
> I hope you all don't mind. If you have any suggestions about chapter length, please let me know ^-^
> 
> Though it started off like as a little fluff side hoe, I do enjoy writing it more thought out, now. And I wanted to focus more on the characters themselves, and not only the external influences. Hence the slower pace.  
> I've not forgotten all the plot points introduced before, though ik they haven't been mentioned the last two chapters. It's all going to be addressed in future chapters ;) 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hii!  
> I'm very sorry for taking such a big break. It's been a crazy year in general plus writer's block, which of course is not an excuse but its something i need to learn to deal with better 
> 
> Hope you're doing well!   
> Thanks for sticking around <3

**SANSA**

_We shouldn’t_ , was the first thought Sansa had had when Arya insisted they should go further into the forest. It was beautiful to be sure.  Dust motes caught in sunlight filtering through leaves, small transparent drops shining like diamonds on small honeysuckle bushes . Even the occasional rabbit hopping by after drinking from the stream.

It didn’t look like a threatening place, but she knew father would disapprove. And Sansa never did anything her father disapproved of.  The girls  were meant  to have a peaceful picnic, admire from afar the waterfall, eat some fruits in a lovely meadow and be back before sundown .

Robb, Theon and Jon had gone off by themselves for a hunt or a day in the woods and Sansa had sometimes wondered what they had been upto during these trips  . Some mischief or another, no doubt. Theon would, at least, and  maybe  Robb but she was  fairly  certain Jon would be the responsible one.

Now she had taken on his role, Arya Theon’s and Sandor Robb’s.  There was no stopping her sister while she climbed trees, as if she were competing with squirrels, splashed about in the streams  . And even tried to catch fish with a makeshift fishing rod, which the Hound had  just  laughed at.

The pups were enjoying themselves too. Though they were born knowing how to swim, Sansa was nervous. Sandor took off his shoes and cloak. He folded the breeches up from their hem to his calves and stood in the middle of the stream. Florian and Sandy splashed around and Terry bit at the rushing water from between two rocks.

Sansa tried to get him to play with the other pups but he seemed content only during battle.

“Oh come on, Sansa, please,” Arya whined. “It’s  just  a little bit further! It’ll be fun.”

“There’s nothing there that's different from here,” Sansa said. "More trees and mud. Besides, look how pretty it is here,” she gestured around them.  Ser Barristan had made the group climb down from the hill beside the big waterfall after Joffrey and Merry had gotten in trouble for going too close to the edge .

Luckily, there was a much smaller waterfall on the opposite side of the small hill, where they were currently lounging by .

“Well if it's no different, then it’s as safe there as it is here. So let’s go,” she grinned, grey eyes shining with excitement.

“That’s not what I meant.” Sansa took in a deep breath to calm herself.

“Gods, Sansa, what are you so afraid of? We have the Hound with us. What in this forest is going to tangle with us while he’s around.”

Sansa considered this. It was true Sandor was a capable warrior, indeed one of the best in  all of  the Realm. Sansa was sure he’d keep them from harm. But father…

“Father wouldn’t like us straying so far from the group,” she said, waiting to  be convinced .

“But the group has strayed so far from us! Theon and Jeyne are taking a walk and I haven’t even seen the others for hours-”

“Around half an hour,” Sandor snorted. Then went back to guarding the pups.

“Anyway, we’ll be back before they know it.”

Sansa wiggled her toes. It did seem fun. They’d only be taking a walk, why would father object to that? He wouldn’t,  surely  not. And there was Sandor. “Should we tell Ser Barristan, at least?”

Arya sighed. “If that’s what it takes to put your mind at ease.”

“ I think  they’re by the pond, that way,” Sansa pointed away from the stream. “Let’s go tell him.”

In open sunlight, the Kingsguard armour was as painful to look upon as it was splendid.  Ser Barristan stood still and shining as a marble statue, only the movement of his beard and hair giving away the illusion .

He hadn’t relaxed one bit since Sansa had last seen him telling off his charge, all stiff backed and stern browed. “Ser Barristan,” Sansa curtsied and Arya followed.

“My ladies,” he gave them a gentle, if somewhat tired smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Um… I was hoping … I mean we were hoping,” Arya started,  suddenly  nervous.

“We wanted to take a walk further into the woods. Not too far,  just  by the old tree. The  newly  fallen one.”

“Oh.” _Ahem,_ he cleared his throat. “Not too far, my lady.  Shall  I come with? I’m sure His Grace wouldn’t mind another walk.” He nodded towards the two distant figures, within his range of sight, sitting by the pond.

“No need to bother him, ser,” Sansa said, a little annoyance wedging its way into her voice. “We shan’t be long.”

“If you say so, Lady Sansa. Do not  be alarmed  if you do not find us here when you return. We would be taking a walk of our own. Let us meet by the plunge pool at sundown.”

Sansa agreed while Arya nodded  eagerly. It was still a while left for sundown, they'd get plenty of exploring done, Sansa was sure.

She helped Sandor dry the pups and put their leashes back on, an art she was  quickly  mastering. Then the girls waited while he put his things on.

“Do we need to take Stranger?” he asked.

The sisters exchanged a look. “We aren’t going that far, but he’d like to come see the forest?” Arya said.

The Hound  simply  shrugged and fetched the stallion. Arya was more enthusiastic trying to befriend him, but he scared Sansa a little more. Not for herself, but that the ill tempered beauty might trample her dogs.

He was fine though, at least for now, walking  peacefully  by his master.  The sound of his heavy breathing and the chirping of birds heralding their way deeper into the lush green .

**JOFFREY**

I've gone and done it now, Joffrey thought, his heart racing. He folded his arms and leaned  casually  against the tree.

Merianne was still staring at him, eyes wide, the point of the stick stretching the last ‘e’ of her name.

She was so quiet, it was unnerving.

"What?" He snapped finally. She seemed to gather her wits. Shaking her head she came over to him.

" Really  , Joffrey? You aren't  just  saying that?"

Had it been anyone else, it would've made Joff lose his temper. He was sick of everyone always thinking if he was lying. But this was Merianne. She  probably  hoped he was lying for his sake.

"Why would I make that up? Why would anyone make that up?" He said,  stupidly  . It would be much better to  just  tell her it was a blasted jest and never speak of this again. But he  was tired  of keeping it to himself. So tired.

It wasn't a  princely  sort of secret anyway. He couldn't tell anyone, not mother, she’d  be upset  and blame it on father;  absolutely  not father. It was something Uncle Tyrion would've made fun of him for, mean as he was.

_Merianne wouldn't_ , he knew. She was nice and kind and lovable . And even though most of the time he was  wildly  jealous of that, now he  was comforted by  it.

"You  really  can't read?" She whispered in her own way, which was to say not at all  softly  . Joffrey was once again glad of the seclusion. His eyes went  unwittingly  to Ser Barristan. He hasn’t heard. Joffrey  was relieved .

He shrugged. What was there to say? "No need to make a fuss, Walder. When I'm king, I'll  just  pay someone to do all my reading. Besides, I can remember everything  really  fast. Ask me anything," he said with a confidence he didn't feel.

"But you still need to be able to read secret scrolls and things," she said. Her hand was small and warm and soft in his. He shook it off.

"I said I don't need to learn." He stalked away leaving her to follow. For a second he was afraid she wouldn't come, but she did.

Merry struggled to catch up to him as he zoomed past the bushes and trunks, further away from the main camp.

"Wait, don't be angry," she said, jogging up to him. "I can teach you if you want."

_Little Merianne,_ he thought. _So helpful, so sweet, so kind, and isn’t that_ _just precious._"Are you mocking me?"

"What? No! I want to help. I can go over the letters with you and then you'll be able to read!"

"It won't work! It's not like I haven't tried, you know," he was getting angrier. He had tried. He had. For a long time before giving up.  After weeks upon weeks of practise, doing as the Grandmaester said, Joffrey still wrote tap as pat and could never remember to write ‘the’ and not ‘d' . But no one would believe him, now would they? No one ever did.

“Please don’t be angry,” Merianne was saying. Somewhere Ser Barristan was calling for them to not go too far.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he cried, taking out the world’s anger on his only friend in the world. “I shouldn’t have told you. I shouldn’t! You’ll  just  go blab to everyone now - tell your nephews and Sansa and Uncle Tyrion and everyone.” He was getting worried now, as he said it.

He hadn't meant to tell her, but it had slipped out.

She had been writing her name in the mud with a stick and he had been looking, trying to admire the shape of it before it got all muddled  . For some reason, he  suddenly  had had the urge to write his own.  Naturally , he had messed up the spelling, and tried to tell her that was how he spelt it -- with one ‘f’ but she wouldn’t budge. Besides, he had no explanation for the inverted 'f's. And then the whole thing had come out. Like vomit.

Merry had gone quiet again.

“What? Say something,” he hissed.

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” She stood so far away, and she didn’t even look at him. It squeezed something inside and he felt a lump in his throat.

Joffrey reached out a hand, palm up. She considered it for a second before shaking it and immediately turning away.

“Merianne,” he started,  calmly  the way Ser Barristan had said, to apologise.

“Yes?”

“I didn't mean to yell at you, I’m sorry if you got upset by that.” By the Seven, how many girls was he to apologise to in one day? _Couldn't they be normal? Like boys?_

“Alright,” she sniffled. She wasn’t crying, not  really.  Just  sniffling, like the baby she was.

“I’ve never told anyone this before, and I don’t want to tell anyone else ever again,” he said. This was as much as he could allow himself to say.

“W...ould you feel better if I told you a secret I’ve never told anyone before?” she asked, chewing on a fingernail.

Joffrey snatched her hand away. He considered it. “ Maybe … yes."

“You also have to promise not to tell anyone.”

She said it so  seriously , it made him laugh. But he pulled himself together and nodded.

She scrunched up her nose at him. Then took a deep breath.

“My parents fight a lot too,” she said, and brought up her hand to chew her nails again. He almost snatched it away, but last second decided to let it be. “Sometimes there’s screaming. And I go hide away in Ami's chambers and now even she's married off. But the worst is the days after the fight. They’ll avoid each other and make me carry messages all over the Twins to each other. Sometimes I pray that I'll get sick so they'll worry about me and not fight.  I only want everyone to get along, and be happy - a-and--" she stopped, catching her breath like she'd ran a mile and burst into a fresh wave of tears.

He didn’t know what to do, what to say. He had never been in a situation like this. So he wrapped his arms around himself and kept his head low.

“You won’t tell anyone, right?” She asked.

“Why would I?”

Merianne wasn’t convinced. “You have to promise me too,” she held out her hand (not the one she’d been biting, thank the gods). She looked so small, sitting there on the little stone, he could envelop  all of  her in one arm. So he did.

She sniffled a little more and Joffrey prayed she didn’t get any snot on him.

“Fine, I promise.” They shook hands. “I-” _What’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like she’ll make fun of me._ If she hadn’t made fun of him for not being able to read, he didn’t think she’d make fun of him for this. “I hate it when they do it in front of everyone. Fight, or you know… father and … well he drinks wine and … the serving wenches...” he trailed off, disgusted, not wanting to finish.

She squeezed his wrist and shuffled closer. It was better than anything she could have said. She nodded. “And then everyone’s talking about it the next day. My father doesn’t drink, he’s very quiet most of the time, but when he’s angry… I get scared. It’s so much worse now that even Hoster left.”

The name fell like lightning on Joffrey. “Who’s Hoster?” he straightened up. “ Surely  not Lord  Tully ?”

“Hoster is my big brother.”

Joffrey relaxed, shoulders slumping down, confused by his own reaction.

“He’s a squire now for our uncle -” she gasped  suddenly  , “Joffrey! You should squire for your Uncle Jaime! Then you don’t have to worry about not  being sent  off to Ashemark!”

“I’d rather break all my fingers with a warhammer.” Joffrey blurted out, shocked by the sudden change. It perplexed him to no end, how she could go from smiling to crying, from distracted to focused, from talking non-stop to silent as the grave in the blink of an eye. He had trouble keeping up with her.

She tilted her head,  questioningly .

He gave no answer. She was _such_ a child, it's not like she would _understand_ even if he managed to find the words to explain to her.

“So, what now?” he said,  just  to get her talking.

“Do you want to go back to the camp?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Me neither,” she admitted. “You want to collect rocks?”

“Huh?”

“For my rock collection.”

“Who collects rocks?” He chuckled. Not a false one from before, a real one.

“I do,” she huffed. “Lots of people collect rocks! Myrcella does too.”

“You’re friends with my sister?”

“Mhmm, and little Tommen. He wants a kitten too.”

Joffrey wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. _Bugger cats and bugger kittens. And fawns while you’re at it. Good for nothing but making gloves._

“Well, I don’t want you to talk to them anymore. You’re _my_ friend and they’re my brother and sis-” he started but she cut him off.

“Why not?” she said, turning the full power of her big black doe eyes on him. “Why can’t I be friends with them?”

_Because you’ll like them more than me and I’ll end up hating_ you _too._ “Because I’m the Prince and I said so.”

“That’s not a good reason! It’s not --”

“Hey, hey!” Ser Barristan’s voice seemed to loom overhead. “Everything alright with you two?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Joffrey shifted in his seat. “I mean, it's not a problem. We’re fine.”

“That’s good.” He laid a stable hand on Joffrey’s head, ruffling his golden waves  delicately . Something, as far as Joff could remember, no one had ever done.

Confused, Joffrey felt nauseous with the idea that Ser Barristan had overheard everything. “I want to go back to the camp,” he announced, getting to his feet. Ser Barristan kept a hand on his shoulder and he  barely  managed to not  violently  shrug it off.

“Alright,” Merianne said  softly .

_Gods, now I’m going to have to apologize again. Blasted girls and their moods._ He never could abide by the wailing of women.

“We’ve come further than I’d thought,” Joffrey said,  just  to have something to say.

Both hummed in approval.

“Where are the puppies?” Merianne asked.

“They all went for a walk in the forest, be back soon and then we’ll head to Castle Darry,” Ser Barristan said.  He also had a hand over Merianne’s head, making it look like she had a dent right in the middle of her head where her fluffy hair  was squished .

The new waterfall was more amiable but Joffrey had liked the first one more. It had been a lot more dangerous.

There was a short climb around the hill to the camp. The plunge lake  gurgled , reflecting the moss covered stones lining its sides. On the very edge, in the shallows, you could see small fish, but only if you paid attention carefully.

“Look!” Merianne said  suddenly .

“I’m looking,” Joffrey murmured. The fish  really  were small, getting lost and reappearing as if out of nowhere.

“No, silly! Over there,” she pointed towards middle of the pool.

Joffrey squinted trying to see.

She hopped in excitement. “There’s something there! Look, it’s golden!”

\------

**SANSA II**

“ I think  we came too far,” Arya said.

“Nonsense,” Sansa brushed her off. She picked some of the beautiful white lilies to complete her bouquet. “We only  just  got here.”  She smelled the flowers, which  admittedly  weren’t as fragrant as roses, but looked much prettier .

“The she wolf is right,” Sandor said. His rasp echoed through the forest. Something in his tone made Sansa straighten up.

She looked around. The world  was bathed  in yellow light, and the shadows stretched far on one side and stout on the other. “We have a few hours till sundown.”

“Will take time to get back to the castle and if we don't make it by then, it’ll be my head on a pike.”

“What’s gotten into you two? You’re the ones who wanted to look around in the first place," Sansa said.

“We did and we have. Now, on with it.” Sandor tugged the pups along and started back. Arya followed soon after.

Sansa stood her ground. “I want to stay for a while.” The whole place was magical. The streams gleamed like liquid gold, and the trees watched over them like protectors. It was like something out of a song. Her -- a fair maiden strolling about in the forest, waiting for her knight. _Or_ _ maybe _ _a bear._ The thought almost made her giggle.

Sandor narrowed his eyes, suspicious.

“One last round and then we go back,” Arya decided.

They were nearing the end of their walk when they chanced upon a hut. It  was nestled  under a giant weirwood. That or the weirwood seemed to grow around it. Sansa wasn’t sure which it was since weirwoods were as old as the world, Old Nan had said. Even Maester Luwin had agreed they lived for thousands of years. So, it wasn't like anyone could build a house under one. But the hut seemed new, its walls a darker wood than the rest of the tree.

Strange stone trinkets hung by the windows. There was no chimney. The roof  was lopsided  and half covered with the tree trunk. An orderly arrangement of flat rocks formed a path from the grass and mud around to the front door.

“What a cute little hut!” Sansa  was taken  aback.  It reminded her of old fairy stories -- the hut, the little garden around it with strange looking plants she’d never seen before, a stream sparkling right beside it .

“More like creepy,” Sandor said, eyeing the dripping red sap from the eyes of the weirwood, falling on gnarled root . One hand gripped the leashes tighter, the other reached for his sword. “That’s it, we’re going back.”

The pups sniffed around going as far as their leashes allowed.

Sandy started biting the leash again. “She wolf, grab Nosy. We’re leaving. And you,” Sandor pointed at Sansa, “run along now, right the way we came back.”

“It’s  just  a little house. Wasn’t it you both who wanted to explore? Lets explore.” She went up to the window, curious about who would build such a house. It didn’t look like anyone actually lived there.

“Look, there’s a little table and curtains, inside - oh, is that a -”

“Ay! What are you doing peeping in my house, girl?” A voice said. The speaker had appeared  seemingly  out of nowhere.

“Step back,” the Hound warned, sword poised before him.

“Or what? You think to come to my house and threaten me? What sort of man are you?”  The old woman hobbled towards him, all her weight resting on the wobbling cane before her, and jabbed a finger right in his arm .

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Sansa rushed. “We didn’t mean to bother you. I was only curious  as to  who lived in a charming house as this.”

The old woman narrowed her eyes, taking score of her own belongings as if to make sure they were the right ones.  The strange root covered hut smeared with red in places, the twisty, purple-green plants with large bulbs for flowers, the carvings hanging on the door, white with red eyes . “Charming, eh? I suppose that’s one word for it. And the big fella?” she pointed to Sandor, keeping her eyes on Sansa.

“He’s terribly sorry too, my lady. Ser Sandor takes his duties to guard us extremely seriously," Sansa said, hoping to calm the poor woman.

“A knight, eh? ‘S been a while since I saw one, yes yes. Sure do make ‘em taller now,” the lady said.

Sansa laughed  politely  while Sandor narrowed his eyes.

“Why do you live alone in the woods?” Arya asked the woman.

She adjusted her hood with a bony hand and pushed the stray strands of white hair from her face.

“Show yourself, you who speaks,” she announced, squinting at Sandor.

Arya shuffled away from him behind him, pups following so they remained at her feet. They sniffed and jumped but the old woman ignored them. “I spoke, Arya Stark of Winterfell.”

“Wha- What sort of a question is that? Why do you live in Winterfell, Arya Stark?” the old woman asked, clicking her tongue at the ‘k.’

“It’s my home. But we’re going to King’s Landing now,” she added. “Father is Hand of the King now.”

“That’s enough,” Sandor said, giving Arya a firm push between the shoulder blades. “We’re done talking.”

Sansa nodded, lifted her skirts  delicately  and followed.

“I’m not,” the woman said,  clearly  miffed.

“No one asked you,” he snapped and turned. And banged against the open air.

"What in the Seven buggering hells-” He felt the air before him. Nothing. He barged forward again and slammed once again into nothing. The pups reached up their front paws and scratched at the air, somehow leaning against it.

Sandor pushed his hand forward and it pressed into something. Like there was a glass wall right before them. He checked again and again, at different spots, but the result never changed. He cursed, running his hands frantically against the invisible wall.

Gaping, Sansa turned to the old woman, who stood in her place with a lopsided smirk and a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Get behind me,” Sandor ordered, and the girls obeyed.

“Who are you?” Sansa asked, her voice half a whisper.

“ I think  you know,” the witch smiled.


	12. Chapter 12

SANSA 

“Hey! What did you do to him?” Arya demanded as she stood  protectively in front of Sansa. Sandor was still stuck in behind the invisible wall. The pups scratched the “glass” and whimpered, unable to reach out. Sansa crouched before them, her hand pressed against the glass where Florian’s paw was. 

The Hound was spewing curses at the woman. Had she been paying attention, Sansa would’ve learned a choice few words at that moment. 

Though she was afraid and frazzled, Sansa decided she must do something. Tactless as both Arya and Sandor were, they were sure to anger the witch even more. 

“Please, my lady,” Sansa started. “We never meant to trespass or bother you. I  just wanted to admire your house. I’m sorry for overstepping my bounds. Please let us go! We’ll be out of your way and shan’t ever bother you again!” 

The old woman looked her up and down, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. “You wanted to come see me once, didn’t you?” 

Sansa remembered the day -- how she had woken up before everyone, picked out her best dress and accessories, how excited she’d been . She also remembered the fight that had rained on all her plans. 

Feeling too afraid to lie, Sansa nodded  slowly . “I did. If you are the Haggle witch, that is.” The woman seemed subdued now. Her grip on her twisted cane had relaxed, some colour had returned to her knuckles. “Are you?” 

“Isn’t that proof enough?” she asked, waving a hand in Sandor’s direction.

“Bugger you!” he spat, rubbing his head as though something hit him. 

“No! I mean, yes,  I believe you! Please stop,” Sansa said, shuffling forward to put herself between the witch and Sandor. 

“You’re the one that wanted proof,” she said  absentmindedly , turned and started walking towards her house . “Well, are you going to  just stand there? I thought you had some questions for me.” She looked over her shoulder, her hood obscuring half her face, at Sansa. 

“I do,” Sansa said, not wanting to make the situation any worse. “Arya, wait here with Ser Sandor,” she added, in her best impression of mother’s voice. 

It worked for Arya stayed rooted to her spot.

“I’m no ser,” the Hound hissed while the pups barked  happily . They had seemed to have gotten over their fear and were rolling around in the mud. The box around them had begun to allow them more space. 

The inside of the hut was much larger than the exterior would have one believe. With the fireplace in the corner giving everything an orange hue, it looked cosy. There were curtains in  abundance , even where they weren’t needed. The didn’t cover any windows or  unsightly shelfs;  simply parted the room into three. First into halves and then one of the halves into a quarter. 

The witch disappeared behind the smallest compartment  wordlessly and Sansa waited, wondering if she should follow or wait for an invitation . 

“ Shall I come in, my lady?” she called. Sansa took the time to look around the space. The roof showed the underside of bricks and wooden panels. No hint of the weirwood roots that coiled around the outside. 

“My lady?” She repeated, beginning to wonder if coming inside the house had been wise. 

“Did you say something?” the witch called. Her voice sounded so far away, Sansa wondered how large the compartment  really was. Magic? 

“I asked if I should come inside, my lady.” 

“Oh! Yes, yes, girlie, come in, come in.” More curtains lined the walls inside, boxing in the area till it was no bigger than two desks next to each other. 

On a small table was a candle standing tall in a pool of melted wax from its predecessors, an amethyst sphere -- smoother than pearls and dark as coal at its core .

“What is this?” Sansa asked, reaching out to touch it, awed. 

“Tut tut,” the witch snapped her hand away. “Don’t touch it! It's not for you to look into unless I tell you.” 

“Why do you say that? What does it show?” Sansa moved about the table, trying to peer into it from afar but it looked the same from everywhere. 

“The afterlife,” the witch said, with a hint of a smile. 

That scared Sansa for some reason. “Can… can I see the heavens in this?” 

“No, child.”

Sansa gasped. “The Hells then?”

“Worse,” the witch said,  sagely . 

“What could  possibly be worse?” 

“Nothing.” 

Sansa did not know what to answer to that.  _Does she mean that the hells were the worst thing there were or that nothing was worse than something - even if that something were the hells?_

Before she could think further, a gust of wind blew in from her right. 

_That’s odd,_ she thought. There wasn’t a door or a window anywhere around.

“What’s behind the curtains?” Sansa asked. 

“You came here to ask me something. Are these the questions you want to ask me? Is this what you were dying to know?” the witch demanded. 

“No…” Sansa had to admit. “But now that I’m here, I’m curious about all this. It’s all quite mysterious. How is the house so big inside? It’s like you’ve fit another world in here,” Sansa said, unable to keep the awe out of her voice. 

“There you have it. It’s huge because it’s another world inside," she snapped. "I shan’t answer all your questions for free though girlie,” the witch warned. “I name my payment after the question  is answered . Should you choose not to give me my dues… well, you’ve heard of witches and their curses.” 

Sansa felt a shudder running down her spine.  Old Nan had told her hundreds of stories about well meaning princes and princesses getting cursed . The one she remembered the best was that of Lady Jonquil cursed to never find her true love. And she had searched far and wide and waited and waited to no avail.

That is, until brave Florian had found the woodswitch, fought a demon and reverted the curse. It had been him Jonquil had fallen in love with. How lovely it sounded in the songs, but Sansa wondered what would happen should a curse befall her.

Maybe it wasn’t a risk worth taking. After all, everyone had told her soulmates were no more. Only the Gods knew what sort of punishment the witch might give her. 

But… people of Darrytown and even from other villages in the Riverlands had been coming to see the haggle witch . The sort of payments Tabitha had told Sansa were songs, scarves, or rarely coin. They weren’t anything Sansa couldn’t part with. 

There had been that one fellow who had to wear a maiden’s gown and walk down the street, but it was only to teach him to not tease the young girls ! Besides, if it came to that, Sansa was sure she could bear an evening of wearing breeches. The Gods knew Arya did it her whole life. 

“I do want to ask you somethings,” Sansa conceded. “And I promise I will pay you for your services --”

“Even if the price seems unfair to you?” she pressed. 

On one hand was the identity of her soulmate, on the other a price she was agreeing to without knowing what it was. But wasn’t this the test of true love? Whoever it could be -- Prince Joffrey, or another.  Perhaps a knight? 

She could be like Queen Naerys, who  was revered even more than Jonquil! 

True love, Sansa sighed. What in this world was greater than true love? 

“I agree, my lady,” Sansa said  resolutely . “I wish to know --” 

“Hold on, hold on,” the witch scampered forward, letting drop the thick grey brown shawl she had wrapped around herself . “Take that stool and sit down,” she ordered, motioning towards a short wooden seat. 

Sansa obeyed. She placed it before the table, across from the witch. The sphere gleamed between them, like a huge purple eye. “Tell me now.” 

“Are soulmates real? Were they ever real?” Sansa asked, bubbling with excitement. 

“A soulmate is as real as you believe it to be,” the witch said. 

Sansa felt a sliver of anger run up her chest. “Don’t talk in tongues.  Just tell me, please!” 

“They were real. It  is said when the True Gods were creating souls, they moulded them from stardust. They had tasked one of their angels to gather and make the balls of it, so they could fashion them into humans. But the angel had made the balls too big. The Gods had to task another angel into cutting them in half. The halves weren’t always perfect and the humans never looked similar. But as it turned out, those made from the same ball of stardust always found each other in life, one way or another. And not always in the way one might think.” 

Sansa finally remembered to pick her jaw off her floor when she realised what this meant. “So whatever souls  are made of, his and mine are the same?” Mistakes aside, all that sounded  incredibly romantic. Sansa  nearly swooned in her seat. 

“His, hers -- souls are souls,” the witch shrugged. “Who’s to say in the matter of love?” 

Once again at a loss for words (this was all quite new for her), Sansa chose to ask her next question. 

“My lady...  Tabby -- my handmaiden -- she mentioned something about a ‘being’ who  is supposed to bring the two soulmates together . Who are these creatures?” 

The witch cocked her head to the side as she considered Sansa’s words and then started chuckling. “‘Beings’? You mean the matchmakers! Ah, yes.  Well, after the souls  were made and sent down to this world, the True Gods found that the humans weren't perfect as they had intended . Aspects getting divided often  unfairly between the soulmates. And so the humans had  been left to search for their other halves. 

Other people who had not yet met their soulmates tried to keep the pairs apart, sometimes for their own selfish gain . The angels could not bare it, for it was because of their folly such a situation occurred in the first place.  They sent the matchmakers down, so they could bring the soulmates together, and if need be, to protect them from harm . The matchmakers -- beings, as you call them -- are  simply pure spirits. They take their form as they see fit, and can change at will. When they will it, though, is upto them.”

Sansa nodded, taking in every word. Now for the most important question. 

“My lady, who is my soulmate? I want to know more than anything who he might be.” Sansa  really hoped it was a boy, though. She had always wanted a husband. 

“It’s a man, dearie. One you’ve come to know very well. One you’ve come to admire, and cherish as he is. No more, no less,” the witch said. 

Sansa liked the sound of that. She thought it over an instant before curiosity got the best of her. “Oh, who is it? Please tell me so I can be with him forever,” she asked, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. 

With a slight mocking smile -- that didn’t sit well with Sansa -- the witch placed a hand on the sphere. 

“State your name for the sphere,” she said. 

Sansa straightened up. “T-to the sphere? I tell it my name?” 

The witch snapped her fingers on her free hand. “Yes, yes, quick now, I have others waiting for their turn.” 

Sansa hadn’t seen anyone outside, but did not wish to  be distracted . “Yes. Uh -” she leaned close to the ball - “my name is Sansa Stark.” 

When nothing happened for a good few minutes, she snapped. “My lady, how long till it tells me the name of the one the Gods chose for me?” 

“It’ll get done when it’s done, hold on. You should’ve come earlier. I take my tea  at this time .” 

Slowly , a white flame burned at the center of the orb, turning it into a shimmering ball of purple light. “This is beautiful,” Sansa murmured. “What will happen now? Will someone tell me the name?” Nothing in the songs had prepared her for this. 

“ Just a minute,” the witch said and ran her fingers around the side of the sphere. The colour of the orb changed. From deep purple it went to a dull grey. Sansa began to grow restless.  Grey wasn’t an enthralling colour after the exquisite violet but some part of her took faith in the fact that it was the colour of her house . 

But the gray warmed up like snow after dawn. Sansa  was reminded of home.  She would sometimes climb up the tallest towers in Winterfell to witness the snow turning to molten gold with the yellow of the sunlight . The memory of home, a welcome feeling for when she’d hear his name. Sansa was certain it was a him. 

The yellow became stronger, till the orb glowed like the sun, vivid to the point she couldn’t look  directly at it. But the desire to see what would come stopped her from looking completely away. 

“Here, look.” The witch motioned her forward with a hurried wave. “Look inside.”

It was hard, and it almost stung but Sansa narrowed her eyes and peered inside. Something was swirling within, almost like rippling water taking shape. _Patience_ , she told herself but could hardly wait. Her heart fluttered. 

The water turned to mist and swirled; the yellow dimmed and began to retreat. When the curls of light coiled around each other they began to reveal a form, never in it’s entirety though. 

Through a screen of gold, a face began to appear. Black hair, Sansa could  just make out, blowing in the wind. It brushed his ( _his, thank the gods_ ) shoulders, broad, cloaked in a dark colour that was not quite black. _Not Joffrey,_ Sansa observed. Not her first love… she didn’t know what to feel about it.  Perhaps that was a battle for another day. 

He seemed not a mere portrait but magic, moving and looking about.

“I need to see his face,” Sansa said. “Oh, please,” she prayed.

The Gods heard her, for he turn he did. 

The mist cleared but only in some places. She caught the glimpse of a sharp jaw, the slope of a brow and dark hair. It looked awfully familiar though she couldn’t place him.  Surely , Sansa would’ve remembered a man as handsome as this. Time was running out and patience was in short supply. “Please,” Sansa said, not knowing to whom it  was addressed \-- her soulmate, the witch or the gods. 

When the mist receded, she could see his ear. Wisps of dark hair fell over the top of it, fine and black as night. The cheek  was shaved but the skin looked rough and darker than the rest. 

“I know you,” Sansa thought out loud. “I’ve met you.” But she couldn’t place him.

Had he visited Winterfell when she was younger?  Perhaps a knight or  maybe a singer? It had to have been long for she didn’t recall seeing anyone like this. She would’ve remembered. 

He looked away again. Sansa cried out in protest. “No! No, I did not recognise him!” The mist only showed dark hair. Staring at it a thought  suddenly struck Sansa.  _Prince Renly_ _! It has to be him! The sharp jaw, the long dark hair! Who else could it be?_

Alright, some of the features looked much too strong to be Prince  Renly ’s but the mist had only allowed her glimpses . 

“My lady,” Sansa pleaded, desperate, “can I not have a clearer look?” 

“Patience, girlie. The sphere shows what it wants to show. Have you never seen a man like this in your life?”

Sansa considered this. She hesitated, but finally responded. “I may have… he does look familiar but I’m afraid I don’t  fully recognise him.” 

“The Gods aren’t cruel, child,” the witch said, her tone  suddenly softer than Sansa had ever heard it before. “The matchmakers only come to life after the two souls have something that belongs to each other. That way there’s always hope that one has known or heard something of their mate. How terrible would it be otherwise, to know they are out there but never to have met...”

That made her feel somewhat hopeful again.  Between the familiar shape of his features and the knowledge of matchmakers, Sansa was certain she had seen him - in passing if nothing else . 

Wanting to press more but also afraid of staying past her allowed time, Sansa nodded and stood up. It was sure to be dark outside and she did not want to worry father.

“My lady, I’m afraid I must take your leave now. The hour grows late and my father will worry. Please tell me what you  shall ask of me as payment.” 

A sadness had clouded the old lady’s eyes. She looked  blankly into the sphere.  Suddenly she snapped. “ Certainly , why yes,  certainly .” She seemed to  be lost in thought,  perhaps devising what she  shall ask of her newest patron. 

Sansa recalled the things she had brought with her. Few coins, a scarf, some ribbons and pins she wore in her hair. 

There was never an  abundance of fortune tellers at Winterfell but the few times she had encountered them, they never took more than a few coppers or rarely a stag .

“What I want is --,” she started but before she could continue, the sound of excited yips filled the hut. 

“What in the world?” Sansa’s mouth fell open as she turned to the door. The pups bounded in, racing as fast as their chubby legs could carry them. Tails wagging  furiously , dashed against Sansa’s feet. “How did you--” she began but a shriek filled the room. 

“Get these dogs out!” the witch screamed. 

The sound startled the pups. Sandy let out a loud bark and jumped out of Sansa’s grasp and onto the table. 

“Sandy!” Sansa screeched, trying to grab him, but he slipped from her grasp and made a mad dash to the other end of the table. He toppled over the precious amethyst sphere. 

The witch staggered forward to catch it but it was too late. 

Sansa watched horrified as within seconds the ball rolled off the table and shattered onto the floor . The pieces crumbled like charcoal. Black and broken. The shine was gone, taking with it the identity of the one Sansa  was meant to be with. 

The witch gasped. “No!” she cried. “No! That mutt -- how did it even -- I will hex it! I will hex it!” 

Terrified of the witch’s threat, Sansa gathered the pups. They jumped into her arms and licked her cheek. “Run! ” she grabbed Sandy and bolting towards the door. The pups’ happy tails smacked her tummy. 

The witch kept fumbling around, bent over her broken crystal. “How did the mutts get here?!” 

Outside, the sun had set. Faint streaks of moonlight battled through the foliage to illuminate the ground. Sandor hadn’t moved an inch from where she’d last seen him, though he looked exhausted. Sweat dripped from his face despite the cold, and he breathed as if he’d run a mile. 

“Where’s Arya?” Sansa blurted out, before she could inquire about him. Her sister was nowhere to  be seen . “Arya!” 

“Here,” came a quick voice as Arya sprang from behind a tree, a large stick held before her as if it were a sword. “Are you hurt, Sansa? Are you alright?” 

“I'm alright! We must leave though. And hurry,” she said. The pup’s leashes lay in a heap by Sandor’s feet. 

“San-Ser,” Sansa said, unable to find the words. “We must get going. Can you move--” 

“You little brat,” he spat, eyes  nearly glowing with anger. “Have you not a single ounce of wit in that empty head of yours? Why would you follow that haggard old crone into her lair? Haven’t those buggering songs of yours taught you to stay the hell away from witches? I swear once I-” 

“Please, ser,” Sansa cried, “we must leave! The witch  is upset with the pups. She said she might hex them! We must leave! Now!” 

“He can’t leave, stupid,” Arya said. She ran and grabbed Florian, while Sansa juggled the other two. “He hasn’t been able to move since you left!” 

“Seven help us,” Sansa muttered, her heart racing. 

“Are you crazy?” Arya snapped. “We’re by a weirwood, stupid. You’ll anger the old gods by praying to the New Gods.” 

Sansa gasped. She hadn’t thought of that. “I’m  terribly sorry, Ol- True Gods,” she said, looking  alternatingly at the sky and the weirwood. “Please pardon me. Help us.” She froze with fear, unable to comprehend where to go, where to run.

“Sansa?” A small boyish voice said. It was faint but the word was clear. 

“Bran?” Sansa  nearly jumped out of her skin. “Bran, is that you?! Arya, did you hear it too?” 

“I did,” her sister agreed. “Bran?!” 

“Here,” he said, 

The girls looked around while Sandor Clegane asked them to wait. “Stay where you are till I get out of here! Little bird! She-wolf! Don’t you both run around now, it’s  just a trick! Nothing more!” 

The sisters paid him no mind. 

“Could she have Bran hidden somewhere?” Arya asked. “Did you see anything in the hut?” 

It was madness  perhaps , or idiocy but Bran had called for Sansa. 

“No, I did not. There were curtains against all the walls and --”

“Sansa, here,” Bran’s voice came again. 

She froze. “ I think it’s coming from the weirwood,” Sansa said. 

She handed Terry over to Arya and with one hand free, stepped  gingerly closer to the tree. 

It was awfully close to the door and Sansa feared the witch might come bursting through the door any moment -- but she hadn’t so far… _How to help Sandor?_ _Could it be Bran? Truly?_

“Is it the weirwood, Bran? Are you alright?” Sansa called. “Am I going mad?’ _What if it's a curse?_ The thought struck her like lightning. Or worse, what if someone had hurt little Bran? Tears flooded her eyes. _It's all my fault_ , Sansa thought. _I never should've come here._

“Sansa, its me! I can see you,” Bran said. “And Arya! I can also see the Hound!”

“Yes, we’re here. We’re here but where are you?” Sansa said. Arya had begun tying the pups to a nearby tree to free herself.  Before she could try something like enter the witch’s house, Sansa thought it best to control the situation . 

“I’m fine. I have Summer with me, and Jojen and Meera,” Bran said. 

Summer? Jojen? Meera? Sansa had no clue who these were.  Perhaps it was a trick as the Hound had said. A trick played by a spooked and weary mind. 

“Summer is my direwolf,” Bran said. “I decided to name him Summer after I woke up. You shouldn’t be here long, Sansa. You should go home. Father will  be worried .” 

Now, Sansa’s heart was beating out of her chest. Her palms became slick with sweat and her agitation was making Sandy squirm too. “Hush,” she told him, patting his head to calm him down. 

The door was starting to creak as though someone was pushing it open against a great force. 

“Leave, Sansa,” Bran said, his voice urgent. 

“Ser Sandor--” she pointed towards the man,  frantically pacing in a two foot square, “I can’t leave without him.” 

“I will go to the Three Eyed Raven,” Bran said. “He scares me, but I will go to him.  He will help…” With each word, Bran’s voice became fainter and fainter till Sansa could  barely make out the last words . 

Frazzled, she ran to Sandor. He still remained behind the invisible glass. Sansa pressed her palm against it at the level of his heart. “I’m afraid,” she confessed, tears brimming in her eyes. “I’m afraid for Bran too. He said something about  being scared .” 

“Hush, little bird,” Sandor said. “Your brother is safe in Winterfell. This is a strange forest. No such thing as Gods. Must be a trick of some sort. I’ll make mince pie out of Greyjoy,  just you wait. Stand behind me,” he rasped. “I will keep you safe.” 

It was an empty promise as he was the one in the greatest need but she obeyed. 

“Arya, get the puppies,” Sansa called. “We’re leaving!” 

“No you aren’t! Your little mutts broke my --” the witch yelled. The door shook almost  violently but didn’t open. The noise of the latch got louder and louder and with it, Sansa’s breath became more and more ragged. 

Sandor’s sword slashed against the glass. Small sparks flew as the metal clashed against the spell wall. 

Arya was back, each hand carrying a black pup, eyes wide and alert. She kept looking behind her as if to check for something. A stick poked out her waistband like a sword in its scabbard. 

The door creaked louder and louder still. It might come off the hinges. Sansa gasped.  We’re doomed, she thought, but a strong arm lifted her from the ground. She yelped in surprise. 

“Hold on, little bird,” Sandor said. 

Stranger galloped towards them from the black of the forest. His eyes were white as the moon itself. It struck fear into her heart, cold and sharp. 

“Here, boy,” Sandor called, his voice level even in a situation as dire as this. Stranger came, followed by a sprinting Arya. 

Sandor placed Sansa in the saddle and then her sister. And mounted last. Both girls grabbed his tunic and the pups  tightly . 

With one glaring jolt the door finally swung open. Sansa screamed. An angry yellow glow came from within and the short, hunched figure hobbled out. 

She raised her staff towards the galloping horse. Sansa expected them to topple to the ground or  be trapped in the glass again but nothing happened. 

_‘He scares me but he will help me,’ Bran had said._ Whoever it was, Sansa had a feeling it was him she had to thank. 


End file.
